The Burghers of Calais
by Scrappy LeMonte
Summary: "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." John 15:13, New International Version Bible. Seven members of the Tunnel Community are asked to give up their lives so that the rest of the community may be allowed to live.  How does each member face death?  How do the survivors deal with their guilt?
1. Chapter 1

Tuesday night, Below

The dining hall was warm, brightly lit, and still filled with the wonderful smells of dinner, and coffee. A few members were still eating, but most were finished, and lingered to enjoy conversation; many were carrying dishes back to the kitchen, wiping down tables, or sweeping.

Father had withdrawn to one side, with a large group of children seated on benches and on the floor in a semi-circle around him. He held two of the smaller children on his lap. "It was the month of September in the year 1346, in a small town in France called Calais on the coast of the English Channel." Ryan, the curly-headed cherub sitting on Father's right knee, played with the fringe on Father's vest. He loved the sound of Father's voice, and the smell of leather that emanated from him. "France and England had been at war for almost ten years, and France was losing. The English controlled many French towns, and they had Calais surrounded." Suzanne, the toddler that sat on his left knee, leaned her head on Father's chest to hear it rumble as he spoke; she pulled herself up by grabbing handfuls of his shirt, then reached out her fingers to touch his beard, the object of her fascination. "They had kept the town surrounded for months, all through the winter. When spring came, the people of Calais couldn't plant their crops or gardens, and the food they had harvested in the previous fall was gone. No supplies could get in." His eyes stayed fixed on the boy sitting with Geoffrey. "Son," he interrupted himself, "why don't I know your name?"

"He's Trevor, Father, he's one of the Griffins," answered Geoffrey. "We're going to ask Mary if he can spend the night with me."

"Ah, welcome, Trevor. Where was I? Oh, yes. Their food stores were depleted," he continued. "The French king's last message had implored them to hold on as long as they could, but they were beginning to starve. Finally they had to surrender to the English. But the English wanted to make sure that Calais would not rise up again, once they withdrew their forces. So they demanded that the town give up its leaders, and leading citizens, and they put them to death. How they met their deaths is a very important lesson for all of us. They didn't want to die, but they went bravely, to save their town…"

Winslow, William, Jamie and Cullen were seated at a table playing Blackjack.

"Hit me," said Jamie. She had the ten of spades and the two of hearts showing. Winslow shot her a card: nine of clubs. "I'll stand," she said. She smiled, and turned to Cullen.

"I'll stand," said Cullen. He had the seven of hearts and the ace of diamonds showing.

"Hit me," said William. He had the Queen of Clubs showing. Winslow flicked a card, and it skidded across the tabletop to him: five of spades. He pondered it. "Hit me again." Another card streaked toward him: two of diamonds. Another analysis. "I'll stand," he announced, satisfied.

Winslow's show card was the ace of hearts. He revealed his hole card: Queen of Hearts. He laughed as he swept in the other's chips; they shook their heads and sighed.

Mary was standing with three other women around a tub of fabric scraps. They were picking at the pieces. "Vincent needs a new tunic," she said.

"Samantha needs a new dress," answered Sarah.

"And Jamie needs a pair of pants," added Renee.

Geoffrey came careening toward Mary; Trevor, a meteor, hurtling alongside him. "Mary! Can Trevor spend the night?"

"Do his parents know where he's at? Is it alright with them?" she asked.

"If it's alright with you then we'll run back to the Griffins and make sure it's alright with them," he answered.

"Yes, it's fine with me. Geoffrey, try not to pick at those scabs. We're having huevos rancheros for breakfast. Do you like Mexican food?" she asked Travis.

"I love William's huevos," answered Travis. He loved the soft curves of Mary's face, her sweet smile. He scratched at a rash on his stomach. "Is he making fried potatoes, too?"

"I think so," she answered.

"Alright!" Travis cheered.

"We'll be back pretty soon," said Geoffrey, and they raced away.

Zach tuned his banjo, Samantha warmed up on her flute, Brooke strummed some chords on her guitar, and Michael ran scales on his accordion. On drums, Zach gave them a four count, and they were off.

Olivia and Rebecca were seated at a table, talking with Pascal and Vincent. "Well, we might have to increase the number of foraging parties, or increase the amount of time we spend foraging," said Rebecca. "I know Mary's running out of fabric and yarn, and we're low on food. I need more candle wax, lots more candle wax, and Olivia is out of her soap making supplies."

"I don't know what the answer is, Vincent, but we have to find a way. It's becoming critical," said Olivia.

Renee approached their group. "I wanted to remind everyone about the dance recital tomorrow night," she said.

Vincent raised his head a bit to listen to a message being tapped out on the pipes. "Excuse me," he said, and rushed out of the dining hall, his cape billowing behind him.

They watched his retreating back; Renee did her best to mask her annoyance; the rest of them grinned. "And he rushes off to meet Catherine," said Olivia.

"She taps, he runs," added Pascal, grinning broadly. Sarah stepped up beside Renee, and hugged her around the waist.

"I'm so happy for him," said Rebecca.

Kanin joined the group, sitting down next to Olivia.

"Does anyone know how she feels about him?" asked Pascal.

They were silent for a moment. "I'm pretty sure she's interested in him," ventured Olivia.

Winslow joined them. "What, Catherine and Vincent? He saved her life, what? four times now? How could she not be falling for him?" asked Winslow.

"And, anyway, what's not to love? He's a great guy," said Rebecca.

"He's a fantastic hero who stepped out of a fairy tale," said Renee.

"Yeah, but…" said Pascal.

"What?" asked Rebecca.

"We grew up with him. But ask Kanin, if you didn't grow up with him, learning how to accept Vincent would be…well, it couldn't be easy."

They looked at Kanin. "Sorry," he answered affirmatively. "I spent a long time trying to figure out what he is." Rebecca huffed in exasperation. "I'm sorry!" he continued. "I mean, first you have to get over your fear, then you have to get to know him well enough to accept him for what he is. I love Vincent like a brother now, but it took some time."

"I can only imagine what Catherine must be going through, what she could be thinking, what she might be feeling…" said Pascal. "She has to be grateful to him for saving her life, but can we expect her to have romantic feelings for him? Is it fair of us to expect that of her? At the very least, she needs more time."

"But he has feelings for her _now_ ," said Rebecca. "It's obvious."

"It is obvious," said Olivia. "And did you see Father glowering as he rushed out of here to meet her? It's shattered his dream of Vincent dying without ever knowing what it feels like to be in love."

"Olivia!" exclaimed Rebecca. Sarah and Renee looked appalled.

"You know it's true," Olivia answered. "You know it. When we were all twelve or thirteen, I remember Father starting to discourage Vincent from developing an interest in any of the girls. And then that mess with Lisa happened. He's been living like a monk ever since. It's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" asked Sarah.

"Everyone deserves to fall in love, to love, to be loved," answered Olivia. "It's ridiculous that Vincent isn't supposed to have those desires. He's just as human as any of us, he just has a few…quirks."

"Quirks," chuckled Pascal. "Like roaring, growling…" Winslow and Kanin laughed along.

"No, I think it's like if we were defending ourselves, we'd slap or punch or scratch because it comes instinctively; Vincent slashes because that's his instinct. I don't see how that's different from us," answered Rebecca.

Pascal cleared his throat. "I see your point," he said.

"I think Catherine loves him like a friend right now," Olivia continued. "But anything more than that…I think you're right, Pascal, we'd have to give her more time to feel about him like we do," said Olivia.

"I don't think there'd be anything wrong with pointing out his good points to her," ventured Rebecca.

"Oh-oh," said Pascal. "Awwwww," said Kanin. They shook their heads. Renee and Sarah sighed and rejoined Mary at the fabric bin.

~~0~~

Vincent re-entered the dining hall with Catherine on his arm; he was almost bursting with pride; he might have been escorting royalty. They stopped to speak with Mary, Renee and Sarah first. "What books did you bring, Catherine?" asked Mary.

"The Metropolitan has acquired several beautiful pieces of sculpture and paintings. These are pictures of them. I wanted to share them with Vincent."

She listened to their resumed conversation about garment design that would spread the fabric between all those in need. She met Rebecca and Olivia, and listened as they discussed with Vincent the possibility of expanding the foraging efforts. She asked Rebecca about making candles and Olivia about making soap. She shook hands with everyone else as Vincent introduced her.

At a few minutes before eight o'clock, Father asked the band to stop for the evening; he called Winslow, Mary, Pascal, William, Vincent, Rebecca and Olivia to pull a few dining tables away from the rest and push chairs and benches behind them. The Council was seated, facing the community.

Father leaned toward Vincent and spoke quietly. "Do you want Zach to guide Catherine back up?"

"No, Father, I wanted her to see our meeting, how we govern ourselves. She was very interested in attending."

"It's a little unusual, don't you think? She's not a Helper, she's not a resident; I'm not sure it's appropriate for her to be here."

"It will be alright, Father," Vincent reassured him.

Far from reassured, Father called the meeting to order. "Good evening, everyone, and thank you for attending. Our government is an exercise in true democracy, and as such, we need to hear everyone's voice. I'd like to start the Council meeting by introducing our two newest appointments, Olivia and Rebecca." He paused for applause. "We look forward to their insight, and leadership. The first item on our agenda will be our current needs. First, we are in need of wood to burn in the braziers for heat. Randolph, I believe you are in charge of that foraging team. Would you please make arrangements to borrow Mr. Wong's van? Then you can visit the warehouses for worn out pallets they want to discard, and also make the rounds on construction sites. Remember to ask for the scraps, don't just take them."

"Yes, Father, I know," answered Randolph patiently.

Catherine scanned her surroundings. The torches lining the walls and suspended from wagon wheels chained to the roof cast a flickering golden glow over the entire hall. The family groups clothed in patched-together garb, the rough-hewn tables and benches, the dim lighting made her feel like she was a character set in a Renaissance period piece.

"Alright then, our next item is a piece of good news: Mouse has finished modifying an oil-burning stove for William to cook on. It will burn waste oil we can collect from filling stations, and they might actually pay us to haul it away. We will need someone to volunteer to organize a new foraging team to collect waste oil." Mouse beamed with pride, but his brilliance dimmed as the silence stretched on. Father started to fidget, waiting for someone to speak up. The silence dragged on into an awkward lull. "Come now," prompted Father, "will no one volunteer?"

"Father," ventured one brave spirit, "I would do it, but is this stove going to work? No explosions? No fumes?"

"Mouse fixed! Stove works good!" Mouse protested.

Vincent spoke up quickly. "There were some earlier, unsuccessful attempts. But Mouse has refined his technology, Winslow and I have helped, and we have been testing the system on a number of heaters for several weeks now. It has been very successful, no explosions, no fumes, and in fact, Mouse has developed a very sensitive thermostat that maintains the temperature within one degree."

"We've tested the actual stove, as well," added Winslow. "It works fine."

"Well, okay then, since you're confident, I'll organize the team."

"Thank you, Scott," said Father. He sighed and shuffled some papers. "And now," he said completely without enthusiasm, "I will reluctantly re-open our discussion of creating an alliance with the Griffins."

Suddenly[MD2] everyone was yelling, at the Council and at each other; many had jumped to their feet. Randolph, the 28-year-old black man who had volunteered to gather wood, stood and shouted, "I came down here to get away from people like the Griffins! I don't want them and their hate anywhere near my family!" Emily, his wife, was a 23-year-old white woman. She held their daughter, Suzanne, the 10-month-old Father had held on his lap earlier. Scott, the 32-year-old man who volunteered to gather used oil, was also on his feet, and he also was shouting. "We will leave! We will either go back Above, or we'll move to the outer perimeter!" His wife, Elisa, 28-years-old and looking like she did not relish the idea of moving anywhere, was also on feet, but for the purpose of keeping watch on their son, Ryan, who was in exploration mode. "Father!" she cried out, "please! Please don't let this happen!" There were many older residents who pleaded in favor of the Griffins joining the Community, aghast that they had been deprived of a fresh water source for this long. Father held his forehead in his hand. The rest of the Council varied in their reactions: Winslow was agitated, Vincent looked pained, William and Mary were waving their arms and yelling at each other, Pascal closed his eyes and sighed, Rebecca frowned, Olivia urged calm.

Vincent looked at Catherine, to see her reaction to the uproar. She sat quietly, leaning forward a bit, trying to make out what the Dwellers closest to her were saying.

Gradually, the din died down. Father raised his hand in the air for quiet.

"We've been arguing for weeks, and we're no closer to a decision now than when we started. Let's try a different approach to this and see where it gets us. Let's have a debate. Mary, you're in favor of forming an alliance with the Griffins, William, you're against. So, let's do this: Mary, you argue against the alliance, William, you argue for it."

Mary and William looked stunned. Mary came to herself first. "No, Father, I'm not going to try to persuade people to vote against it! Why would I? We need this alliance! The Griffins need it— "

"Mary!" Father interrupted. "Please, let's just try! Nothing else is working and we can't go on being at odds against each other. We must make a decision and everyone must support it. If you can come to see William's point of view so well that you can argue for it, then perhaps others can reconsider their positions as well, and we can find a compromise. What do you say? Will you try?"

Mary nodded her head. "I see your point, Father, and I agree, we can't go on like this. Yes, I'll try." She looked at William.

"If you will, I will, too," he said. "Ladies first."

"Oh, no, William, age before beauty," she teased, her eyes twinkling.

William chuckled. He liked Mary very much, and had enjoyed a teasing, bantering relationship with her for years. Since they'd found themselves on opposite sides of the Griffin issue, their friendship had cooled, which had caused him a great deal of pain.

"Alright, then," he said, and stood up to speak. "The Griffins came to us several weeks ago, and asked us if we could join our two communities together. They'd been tapping into the city's water mains, but when the city laid new pipes and rerouted the flow, they lost their access to fresh water. They also wanted us to educate their children. They felt that we ran a better school than they did. At the same time, the Griffins are far better at foraging than we are. They've never suffered the kinds of food shortages we have. And there've been times when they've shared food with us, out of their excess. But they don't want to just share or exchange resources now. Water is too important. They want a stable source. And we would benefit from a steady, stable source of food."

"Yes, but why must we join our communities together?" asked Mary. "The Griffins have beliefs and values that are very different from ours." She chose her words carefully, because Trevor and Geoffrey had returned, and were listening closely.

Father followed her line of sight. "Children, it's time you got ready for bed." A moan went up. "Alright, children, you are excused." They obediently got to their feet, and filed out, the older ones guiding the younger ones.

"But haven't we always tolerated each other's differences? And hasn't having many differing points of view always strengthened us?" asked William.

After the last child left the chamber, Mary stood, and continued. "The Griffins don't treasure their children the way we treasure ours. The Griffins scream and curse at their children, and spank and slap them. Their children, in turn, believe the way to settle a disagreement is to fight. We've had to work with them to teach them not to hit when they're over here. Also, the Griffins have a religion that's…that is…I don't know how to put it, there's a lot of judgment and damnation, hellfire and brimstone, and burning in lakes of fire for eternity. When they talk about it, which happens too frequently, it frightens our children." She chuffed. "It frightens _me_. We disagree on many other things. They are actually a very large, extended family, and they have a patriarchal orientation: the grandfather is the rule maker and everyone is subservient to him. After that, the women are subject to their husband's authority. That's not going to go over very well with us, at all. They don't practice modern medicine, they don't have any doctors or nurses over there and they won't seek out any medical care when they're injured or ill. Their values are different. They believe it's alright to steal from the world Above, which is why they don't run out of food. There are many more things we differ on, but just the ones I've mentioned would make any kind of unification very difficult."

"If they wanted to live here among us," added Vincent.

"That is what they want," said Pascal.

"I understand now, Mary," said William, "why you want them to live with us. There's a chance that we could absorb the child rearing duties, which would take the children out of harm's way, and at the same time, it's possible that the Griffins might learn a better way of caring for children. They might learn to respect women from seeing our example."

"It's possible," said Mary. "As far as I can see, it's their only hope."

"They can't live here with us," said Winslow. "They're violent people. They're not gonna change. We'd be fighting and arguing constantly."

"We're going to have to let them join us," said William. "It's what they want, and if we don't let them come, they'll come anyway and try to drive us out."

"Since that's the case, maybe we could give them chambers on a different level," offered Olivia.

Father nodded. "Vincent, would you organize teams to scout possible locations to settle the Griffins in? As far away from us as possible, but with access to water."

"Yes, Father."

"And Rebecca, we'll need all the lanterns we can muster, torches and extra candles for our scouting efforts, so you know what that means."

"Yes, Father," she answered, smiling. "I'll make work schedules tonight and post them first thing in the morning. I'll also make an announcement at breakfast."

"Very good, then. Well…it seems we have all come to a consensus in spite of ourselves." A round of cheers and applause erupted spontaneously. "I believe that's all we have for tonight. Do I hear a motion to adjourn?"

At least a dozen people sang out, "Move to adjourn!" and another dozen sang out, "Second!"

"Moved and seconded. We are adjourned," declared Father.

Everyone rose and milled about, chatting.

Catherine approached Vincent. "What did you think of our meeting?" he asked.

"Yes, Miss Chandler, what do you think of our system of government?" asked Father.

"Let me make sure I understand what's been going on," she answered. "You've been talking about the Griffin situation for weeks, but you haven't been able to find an answer."

Father and Vincent looked at each other for a moment. "I think it's been closer to a month," said Vincent.

"Yes, I believe that's so," Father agreed. "We've had a very difficult time with it. And the Griffins are becoming impatient for an answer. I believe William was right when he surmised that if we didn't let them come, they'd come anyway."

"We'd better reconsider what our security arrangements should be if they're going to be living so closely to us," said Vincent.

"I'm afraid so," answered Father.

"Well, then, I think you are all to be commended for your determination to keep talking until you arrived at a solution. Not many people are capable of such persistence," said Catherine.

"Father's leadership has seen us through many challenges that seemed to have no resolution," said Vincent. He put his arm around Father's shoulders and hugged him.

"I don't doubt it," she answered. "It was very clever to ask Mary and William to argue from the opposing side."

Mary, passing by, overheard Catherine's remark and joined them. "Father is known for finding clever solutions to problems that appear insurmountable. We'd be lost without him."

"Nonsense, Mary," Father objected, "you give me too much credit. Each one of us is devoted to the other. It's not possible that we should fail to find solutions to our problems."

"Father, you are a genius," thundered Williams, suddenly at Father's elbow. "I think this is going to work out. After all, as a great philosopher once said, 'Hold your friends close, but hold your enemies closer.'"

"Who said that, William?" asked Mary.

William comically turned down the corners of his mouth, shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands. "Who knows? Who cares?" They all laughed. "Mary, come help me put out some hot apple cider and gingerbread." They strolled toward the kitchen.

"It's been a very long day. I'll say good-night now," said Father.

"Sleep well, Father," said Vincent.

"Good-night," answered Catherine.

"Catherine, I've been looking forward all evening to looking at the books you brought," he heard Vincent say as he turned away. It rankled that Vincent seemed so anxious to turn his attention to Catherine.

Vincent followed her back to the table where she'd left her books, and sat next to her on the bench. "The Met has acquired sculptures by Rodin, Carpeaux and Bernini, and paintings by Caravaggio," she said as she opened the first book to a plate of Rodin's _Eternal Spring_.

The image of the sculpture evoked an intensity of emotion so powerful that Vincent gasped. "Oh, Catherine…" he almost whispered. She was touched by his emotion. "…they are so in love. Look how she has completely opened herself up to him, her head thrown back, her back arched, her arm back and over her head. And he, look…he can barely find a foothold in the rock, his best hold leaves his knees bent and his legs crossed; he clings to a handhold on an outcropping of rock…so very tenuous is his hold, and yet how tenderly he holds her, one arm around her back, his hand cupping her upper arm, how gently he kisses her…he cherishes her…his heart is overflowing." It took him a long moment to catch his breath; when he came to himself, he laughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No, Vincent, please don't be sorry. This piece is very moving, I agree. Rodin is my favorite sculptor. He captures moments of intense emotion so perfectly. Can I show you my favorite piece?" He nodded. She started flipping pages, searching. "It's called _The Burghers of Calais_. Do you know the story?"

"Yes, Father was telling that story to the children after dinner tonight. He tells it often." He spoke fondly.

Catherine noted the warmth in his voice, the tenderness in his eyes as he spoke of his father. "You're very close to your father."

"Yes. He gives everything he is to all of us, every day. He loves us, he leads us, he inspires us. He has given me everything. He has taught me everything."

"Everything?"

He searched for words. "He educated me, of course, but beyond that, he's loved me unconditionally, and taught me to love and accept others. He's shown me that giving is far more satisfying than taking. He's taught me that true happiness comes from doing one's duty."

"And you trust others to care about you, to put you first?"

"Yes. It's how we live."

"That's amazing. Hold that thought…ah, here it is." She turned the page to Rodin's sculpture.

Vincent's eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply. "There they are…each one coping with sacrificing his life in his own way. This one stoically…this one mournfully…I see fatalism here…disbelief…anguish …grief." They stared at the picture for a very long time.

Catherine wondered about the Tunnel Dwellers, about how people unrelated to each other could develop such strong bonds. As kind and gentle as her father was, she recalled one of his most frequent sayings was, 'it's a dog-eat-dog world.' As a partner in a law firm, she knew there had been many times that although he'd liked someone on a personal level, he'd let them go because they failed to generate a certain level of revenue. She knew she would like to believe that she could have given up her life for her mother, or could give it up for her father, but for anyone else? She'd never loved anyone else that much, not even close to it. She thought about Vincent. She knew he regretted having to take other lives in order to save hers, but she wondered if it was as hard for him to take life as it would have been for her to give her life.

Plates of gingerbread and mugs of cider appeared at their elbows. "Hey," interrupted the female voice that belonged to the serving hand, "that one looks like you, Pascal."

Vincent and Catherine emerged from their absorption to find Pascal and Jamie looking over their shoulders.

"Let me show you _Achilles Dying_ ," said Catherine, and she flipped some pages.

There was a collective intake of breath as she revealed the plate. "Look at his face!" exclaimed Jamie. "He knows he's dying, and he's so sad."

"It looks to me like he's in a lot of pain," said Pascal.

"I think his eyes are focused on heaven, and he sees the gods, inviting him in," said Vincent.

"It's fantastic that one image evokes so many different interpretations. I believe that it actually takes all of them to fully appreciate and understand the work," said Catherine.

"But Rodin didn't carve that one, did he?" asked Pascal.

Catherine read the caption. "No, you're right, this one is by Ernst Herter."

"Good eye, Pascal," said Jamie.

"The style is very different," he answered.

"Let me show you _Fallen Angels_ ," said Catherine, flipping.

"Ow!" exclaimed Rebecca, now standing at Vincent's side. "I feel like _I_ just slammed into that rock!"

Everyone else murmured agreement.

"It looks like they might have been embracing before they hit," said Jamie.

"Yes," answered Vincent, "terrified, clinging to each other, shaking with fear."

"Vincent, what are those lines from _Paradise Lost_ , after Lucifer is cast out of heaven, he loses consciousness when he hits the earth, then when he comes to? '…peace and rest can never dwell…hope never comes that comes to all…'" asked Renee. She stood behind Catherine.

"I know the lines you're thinking of," Vincent answered.

"round he throws his baleful eyes  
That witness'd huge affliction and dismay  
Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:  
At once as far as Angels kenn he views  
The dismal Situation waste and wilde,  
A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round  
As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames  
No light, but rather darkness visible  
Serv'd onely to discover sights of woe,  
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace  
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes  
That comes to all," he quoted.

"That's it," said Renee, "that's it exactly." Poignant sadness filled her eyes.

"Amazing," breathed Rebecca.

"Well," said Catherine, "I'll leave these with you to enjoy. It's getting late; I have to be going," said Catherine, rising.

"I'll see you up," said Vincent.

"Good-night," and "Thank you," and "Sleep well," they intoned severally as Catherine and Vincent made their exit.

Rebecca and Renee replaced Vincent and Catherine on the bench. Rebecca turned a few pages, to Carpeaux's _Sons of Ugolino._

"I remember that story from Dante's _Inferno_ ," said Rebecca. "He was sentenced to death by starvation. They threw him, his sons, and his grandsons in a prison cell, locked the door, and threw the keys into a river."

"The others died before him, and he ate their dead bodies," added Pascal.

Rebecca raised her eyes to the door Vincent and Catherine had gone through. "I'd better think about turning in, too," she said. "I have to make those work schedules. I like scouting around. Our rock formations are beautiful. It's kind of romantic, don't you think so, Renee?" When Renee didn't answer, Rebecca asked, "Pascal?"

Pascal looked at her for a second or two. Realization dawned. "Now that you mention it, yes, it is. Romantic. There's an element of danger, too, because of the darkness. Makes it exciting."

"You know, maybe Catherine might enjoy scouting around down here," said Rebecca.

"Yes, maybe we should suggest it to Vincent," said Pascal.

"Let's do that," said Rebecca. "Well, good-night," she said as she stood up.

~~ 0[MD1] ~~

"It's still hard for me to believe that this place exists," she said as she extended her hand to brush across the rock face of the tunnel wall. It was cool, and rough, and unyielding.

Vincent glanced down at her, and smiled. "I can imagine. To have lived your life Above, then discovered an entire community Below…it must be astonishing." He raised the lantern to cast its light further out. A deposit of rose quartz sparkled in the wall beside Catherine; she gasped and brushed her fingers across it. "How pretty!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," he agreed, looking at her.

She raised her eyes to meet his, and smiled. She linked her arm through his, and rested her hand on his forearm. A thrill ran through his body, sending his heart into palpitations. He worked to catch his breath.

"What was it like to grow up in these tunnels?" she asked him.

He took a deep breath to settle himself, and think back. "When I was very young, I remember playing with my brother and the other children, running through the tunnels, exploring, swimming…I remember Father reading to us, teaching us. Father was a wonderful teacher. He made learning exciting. He kindled our curiosity and sparked our desire to research and experiment, to question and debate."

"You have a brother?"

"Another boy adopted by Father. Sadly, he left the Tunnels long ago. I count Renee as my sister, as well. We were very close growing up."

"And there are places to swim down here?"

"Oh, yes, there are many springs and pools, hot, cold, mineral, salty, shallow, deep…"

"Amazing. Sometime when you have a chance could you show me the springs?"

"I'd like that very much. When we go exploring for chambers for the Griffins, would you like to join us?"

"Over the weekend? I'd love that."

"We also love it. One mustn't rush when mapping, so there's plenty of time to enjoy the vistas."

"Vistas? In tunnels?"

"Much of our world is tunneled, but there are also caverns and canyons, cliffs, valleys, plains and summits. There are many rivers in our world which have flowed for centuries, carving deep channels into the rock. Interesting and beautiful rock formations are common, but they rise up so surprisingly that sometimes it can take one's breath away."

She smiled. "I can't wait to see it with you."

He covered her hand with his own. The gentleness of his touch, the warmth of his shining eyes, the softness of his voice: these tender qualities of his warmed a place in her heart. She'd never felt this way about a man, safe enough to let her guard down, safe enough to let her vulnerabilities show—safe. She realized that this man who cherished life had killed for her; this man who placed duty to his community above all else had not only jeopardized that community by bringing her into it, but done so at the cost of alienating his revered, beloved father. She realized she could let this man into her heart, and he would never break it.

He saw the tenderness in her glistening eyes and the catch in her breathing. Deep inside, he could feel her opening her heart to him. It was a warmth he'd never felt before, and he wondered if his own heart was melting. He took her hands in his, and lifted them to his lips. He kissed the backs of her fingers lightly, then replaced her hand on his arm.

"Come, Catherine," he murmured, and led her along. She followed; it was easy to follow Vincent.

~~ 0 ~~

In[MD2] bed at night[MD3] , making love to his wife was Kanin's favorite place to be. "Liv?" Kanin forced himself to murmur into his wife's intoxicating lips…

"Hmmm?" she moaned back to him.

But it was hard to stop kissing her to talk, especially about the topic on his mind, so he kissed his way down her neck. Then for several minutes he forgot what he was going to say. Then it came back to him, and he knew he had to speak up.

"Liv?"

"Kanin? Do you want to go faster? Slower? Don't be shy, tell me."

He groaned. "Well, we can talk about that later," he pulled away from her, "but I feel like I have to say something to you about Vincent. I don't think it's a good idea—no, I know, it's a terrible idea to get in between Father and Vincent."

"What do you mean?" She was intrigued.

"Or, Father and Catherine and Vincent. Don't do it, Liv. Father has a total blind spot for Vincent. He's a great leader, and a fantastic mentor for everyone here, but he does not want to lead or mentor Vincent. He thinks he knows better than him how to live his life, and as crazy as it sounds, he believes that Vincent should never put his hands on a woman."

"Tell me what I don't know."

"Maybe you don't know that if you cross Father things could get nasty for us."

She sighed. "I know. But Vincent's a brother to me, and it kills me that I've never done anything to help him. Father's always told him that love and sex were not for him, and that's just how he put it, too, 'that way of life is not for you.' I don't know how he's lived with no romance. I guess the way Vincent loves Father might have something to do with it."

"How does Vincent love Father?"

"Vincent _adores_ Father. He always has."

"Was he a tattle-tale, as a kid?"

"Never. Vincent was one-hundred percent one of us, he never snitched, but at the same time, he was one-hundred percent devoted to Father." She laid her head on his chest and traced patterns with her finger on his breast.

"So, how many relationships with women has he had?"

"Zero."

"I couldn't have heard you right."

"No, not a one."

He was astonished. "How did he do it?"

"Exactly. And now he's stuck on Catherine. I'll be damned if I don't help him."

Kanin spent a few minutes pondering this revelation. Through his memory, he travelled back in time, to a wonderful place where he had filled his arms with the sweetness that was Olivia, held her close against his body, and felt his own heart pound with love, and joy.

"Liv?" whispered Kanin to the soft, lovely form that was now snuggled into his chest.

"Hmmm?" breathed her drowsy self, half listening to him, half dreaming him.

"Remember before we got engaged, we used to wander around the outer tunnels?" They'd go spelunking for hours, holding hands, finding a secluded spot by a stream or a waterfall, and kiss and neck.

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned, and dreamed a recollection of tasting his skin, feeling his weight, smelling his scent. "We were never lost," she murmured.

"Huh?"

"…never lost…"

He digested that piece of information. "Liv," he jostled her in his arms, "you're going to have to wake up, because I am going to do things to you," he said remembering the taste of cold fear refluxing up from his stomach, those times when he believed he'd gotten them hopelessly lost in the dark.

"Huh?" she croaked, blinking.

"You grew up down here, you always knew exactly where we were, you always knew exactly how to get home."

She smiled. "I had to have you all to myself for a few hours every now and then."

"Right." He pushed back the covers and started kissing his way down her torso. "I'm gonna make you moan and then beg, woman."

She grew hot and wet, anticipating. "We'll see who begs first," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday

"Good morning[MD1] , Father, Mary," said Renee as she was passing by their breakfast table. "Oh, Vincent," she stopped. "Could you come by sometime next week and try on some clothes? I've got a few shirts, trousers, and a jerkin for you." She pronounced 'jerkin' as if it were a special treat. "And Father, I've finished mending your blue shirt, and I've got a few new things for you as well. When can you come by?"

Father pondered for a moment before he answered, hoping that he appeared to be recollecting his schedule; Renee's voice took him off-guard. It was beautiful and resonant, and had a musical quality, even though she spoke very softly. "Perhaps Tuesday, after morning classes and before lunch, if that would be alright?" he answered.

"Hmm, that's not so good. Mary and I have a fitting planned for some of the children then." She shifted the plate and mug in her hands.

Vincent noticed her gesture. "Renee, please," he said as he took her plate and cutlery, "sit down."

She smiled as Vincent offered her a hand; she modestly lifted her skirt and underskirt, and stepped over the bench.

Try as he might, Father could not resist a surreptitious glance at Renee's legs. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as Vincent, and almost the same age. She had the kind of voluptuous figure that he found so attractive. Her hair was curly, long, thick, and several different shades of blond, from medium to light. Her eyes were a warm brown, and her lips were soft and full.

Though their conversation was innocent, mundane even, Father's mind wandered along a brazen tangent: if Vincent was going to fall in love, why not with Renee?

"…I'm going scouting with Randolph, and Scott and Lena," Renee was saying to Mary. "Vincent, who are you going with?"

"Catherine," he answered.

"And who else?" she asked. Vincent had made assignments in teams of four.

"I wanted to show her the falls, and the Chamber of the Winds," he answered.

"So, you're not going scouting?" asked Father.

"Yes, we will."

They frowned at him, confused. "Vincent," ventured Mary, hesitantly, "how can you go out scouting with Catherine?"

"If anything happened to you, she'd never be able to find her way to get help," added Renee in her soft, low voice.

"And she doesn't know the pipe code," said Mary.

"We'll go no further than the outer perimeter," he answered. "There are many paths that have not been well explored, so we might find chambers for the Griffins. And at the same time, I can start teaching Catherine to find her way— "

"Not really, Vincent!" Father objected, banging down his mug. "Must we have this argument again? We have no way of knowing how trustworthy this woman is— "

"I know, Father. I know how trustworthy she— "

"You are putting this entire community in danger!"

"Father!" Mary raised her voice over his, and laid her hand on his forearm. The entire dining hall was staring.

Father stood. "I'm sorry, everyone," he announced. "Everything's alright." He sat back down. "Vincent, I'm sorry. The thought of her learning more about us—it frightens me."

"I don't know how to set your mind at ease, Father. I know her mind, her soul. She would never betray us, not even at the cost of her life." He paused. "Perhaps you'd be reassured if you came to know her better. I'm going to meet her shortly; can I bring her to your study before we set out? You could talk."

Father sighed. "Yes, that's a good idea."


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday morning

Winslow, Mackenzie, Jamie and Mouse hiked two by two, Winslow and Mackenzie carrying torches, Jamie and Mouse plotting the tunnels on grid paper.

"Here comes another branch," said Winslow.

"Okay, wait, I'm not sure how to put it on the grid," said Jamie.

Winslow and Mackenzie looked over her shoulder at the paper.

"You'd draw a branch here, right?" asked Mackenzie.

They all stared at the paper for a minute.

"No," said Mouse, "let Mouse draw." Jamie handed him the paper and the pencil; his rendering was impressive.

"Good job, Mouse," said Jamie.

"Wow, look at it," said Winslow. "What if the Griffins were to settle in here? Not only would they never get to us, they'd never get up top if we didn't let them."

"I wonder if they would figure that out before they moved in here?" asked Mackenzie.

Winslow shrugged. "Surely they're not stupid enough to fail to realize that there's only one tunnel leading to this branch."

"Do you think they trust us?" asked Jamie.

"Why wouldn't they trust us?" replied Winslow.

"That's not the question to ask," said Mackenzie. "The question is, if they settled in here, what would our defenses have to be to protect ourselves?"

"Are you afraid of them, Mac?" asked Winslow.

Mackenzie sighed. "'Afraid' isn't the right word. I just know what kind of people they are. It's what Mary said at the meeting, they think the best way to settle a disagreement is to fight it out. And what she didn't say is that most of them have a chip on their shoulder, and most of them want to have a pissing contest every time they meet a stranger."

"Pissing contest?" asked Mouse.

"You don't literally piss," answered Winslow, "you just act tough…disagreeable…you know, kind of grouchy, like you're ready to get into a fight. And if the man you're meeting acts like he's trying to get along or be friendly, then from that point on, the grouchy guy will boss around the friendly guy."

"So, friendly guy should act mean?" asked Mouse.

"That's right," answered Winslow. "And I bet I know how they're gonna act to our women: they'll disrespect them, bully them and try to intimidate them. And the Griffin women…will act like Griffin men."

"I've been thinking the same thing. We need to figure out how to keep them away from us. I've got some ideas I'm going to talk to Father and Vincent about."

"I've been meaning to talk to Father about going over there and letting them know we're looking for chambers for them, but it's going to take a few days," said Winslow. "In the meantime, I'd like to make sure they have all the water they need, so they don't just barge in on us unexpectedly."

"I can mention that to Father when I talk to him," said Mackenzie.

"No, that's okay, I can talk to Father myself," answered Winslow.

"Yeah, but what I mean is, I'm going to ask Father who he's going to add to Security, because that's a job I'd like. So, I'd rather talk to him about how to make sure we don't have Griffins barging in on us."

"Well, if you want to talk to him, go ahead. I'm still going to talk to him, and he can pick who he wants. Or, who knows? He might think he needs two people to assist Vincent."

Mackenzie snorted and shook his head. "Well, isn't this perfect? Let's hope he needs six, because I know Michael, Randolph, Teresa and Zoe are also going to talk to him about it." He kicked a rock, sending it sailing far away.

"There's no point getting mad about it," said Winslow. "Some other job you want will come along."

Mackenzie stared at him coldly. "What makes you think I wouldn't get this one?"

Winslow smiled a little. "Well…you are just a little short."

Mackenzie was six inches shorter than Winslow, but he was very powerfully built. "I think I'm big enough to do a man's job."

"Yeah, but I'm bigger," said Winslow, raising his voice.

"Pissing contest," said Mouse.

~~ 0 ~~

He paced[MD3] at the bottom of the staple-ladder rungs that led from the sub-basement to the basement of Catherine's building. He was excited, he was nervous, he was eager to see her, he was scared to death to see her. His emotions were in a jumble, and it felt wonderful.

At last, light from above washed over him as he heard the small door sweeping open. He watched Catherine descending and felt her excitement and anticipation.

She turned from the ladder to face him with a huge smile. "Vincent." She reached her hands out to him.

"Catherine," he answered. He took her hands in his. They stared wordlessly, and their silent greeting was a few seconds too long to be unremarkable.

She squeezed his fingers. "I can't wait to get started," she said.

He smiled. "Well, then," he answered, releasing her hands and bending to pick up a backpack. He helped her into it, and then put on his own. He held out his hand; she took it, and they set out.

~~ 0 ~~

"Every time he goes Above to see her, it's at the risk of his own life," said Father.

Renee nodded. Father's library had such a calming effect on her…she loved it. The smell of old books, his leather chairs…she sighed.

"Yes, Father, but Vincent was roaming Above even before he met Catherine," she said.

"Yes, and I've always tried to discourage him from it. I cannot fathom why he feels compelled to wander the streets of a very dangerous city."

She shook her head slightly. "I agree, Father, Above has very little to offer in the way of entertainment." She paused. "Vincent has always loved people so much. Could it be that this is his way of sharing in their lives?"

"Perhaps you're right, Renee. But perhaps if he had a stronger anchor to our world, it might keep him Below."

"What kind of anchor might that be, Father?"

He sighed. "If he must have a romance, why couldn't he have a romance with a woman of the Tunnels? Catherine is lovely, but many of our women are just as lovely; dare I suggest perhaps even more so? She's well educated, but most of our women are more firmly grounded in a Classical education. She's brave, loyal…but, Renee…so are you."

She gasped. He went on. "You are in every way a far better match for him than she could ever be. I know you are very close to him already, but let me ask you, Renee, could your feelings ever incline toward romantic love for him?"

Renee's jaw dropped. Not in shock over his suggestion, but in amazement at how very deep Father's blind spot for Vincent actually was. Father's perception was very keen in his regard for the rest of the community; he was usually the first to notice the subtle hints of attraction between two people. How could he have been so blind to the passion she had felt toward Vincent for so long?

She took a deep breath. "Love for Vincent?" she echoed. How to respond to this, she wondered…

Father went on. "Romantic love. Could you ever see yourself joining with him, possibly raising children? Definitely growing old with him." He smiled. Vincent living to an old age with a devoted wife by his side: that was an image he immediately warmed to.

She nodded, easily joining Father in her most cherished dream.

He broke her reverie. "Well, think it over, my dear. I truly believe that the single life is best for him, but if he must join, he could not hope to find a more worthy, more excellent woman than you."

~~ 0 ~~

Over his teacup, Father studied Catherine's face. He found warmth, and sincerity, but strength? He wasn't sure.

From behind a mask of politeness, Renee searched Catherine's face for that quality that had beguiled Vincent. She was lovely; her smile was charming; she was smart, and well-educated. But Vincent valued loyalty over all else. Did she know that? She was a rich man's daughter, accustomed to being served. Was she capable of bonding with the impoverished cast-offs of New York, and setting aside her own priorities and desires to serve them?

With great difficulty, Catherine looked away from the crystal blue depth of Vincent's eyes, and glanced quickly at Father, then Renee. She sipped her tea; it was bitter.

Father cleared his throat. "Miss Chandler, if you'll forgive my saying so, your surgeons did a remarkable job. You face is perfect."

She smiled. "Thank you, Father. Please call me Catherine. And please allow me to pay you a complement in return: what you've built down here is nothing less than fantastic."

"Thank you, Catherine, but I must say that our world is not my creation alone. Our world is the result of the best efforts of everyone living here," he answered.

"And quite a bit of self-sacrifice," added Renee.

Catherine nodded.

"Yes," agreed Father, "as you saw in our Council Meeting, everyone must put aside his or her own ego, and fully support whatever is in the best interests of the entire society."

"Yes," Catherine nodded. "It's amazing that you've inspired them to do that."

"I can't take the credit for that, either, Catherine. Vincent has quite a bit to do with that."

"Father," Vincent murmured his objection.

"Thirty-four years ago, a woman named Anna Pater found Vincent, an hours-old infant, left in an alley behind St. Vincent's Hospital on the coldest night of the year. He was freezing, and starving. She brought him to us. He cried for days as we struggled to develop a formula he could digest. Renee's sister was born the day after Vincent was found. When Renee's mother began nursing her sister, she began nursing Vincent as well. She saved his life."

Vincent and Renee shared a warm smile, both remembering Renee's mother, a loving, gentle woman, beloved by all.

"And, of course, Anna had saved his life by rescuing him from that alley," Father continued. "I did my part to give him medical attention, warming him and trying to feed him. Mary almost wore a tread in the floor of her chamber, walking with him, soothing him. Everyone went scavenging for him, for a crib, for diapers, for clothes, blankets…even the children were bringing him toys. We were all invested in him. He very quickly became the most important thing in our lives."

Catherine nodded. "The community bonded while working together to save his life."

"The day Vincent came into our lives, we ceased to be a group. On that day, we became a family. Each one of us set our individual needs aside, and instead we put our trust in one another, that we would take care of each other, as a family."

Catherine nodded, and sipped her tea. When she lifted her eyes, she saw Father still looking at her. She smiled a small, rueful smile. "So, you're finding it difficult to trust me not to hurt him."

"Well, Catherine," said Renee slowly, "We don't mean to hurt your feelings, but we're worried about Vincent."

"Renee…" Vincent began.

"Please, Vincent, we need to have this conversation. Catherine, not only are you not part of our community, you're rich, and you're very beautiful. You've grown up in the highest echelon of New York society. You can pick your friends and suitors from the first families of this city. But, Miss Chandler," and Catherine noted the inadvertent return to the formal address, an underscore to Renee's feeling of distance between them, "down here, we have no money. Literally, we have no money. The accommodations are rough, cold, drafty. We're very well educated," she said with a smile and a nod at Father, "but none of us are employed in any position of importance, or glamour. So, I guess we're just confused about your interest in us, and specifically, in Vincent. He will never be able to take you to the restaurants and clubs I'm sure you enjoy. You two will never be able to travel together. Vincent will never be able to truly understand why you might be frustrated or bored or excited about your job. And likewise, you will never be able to understand our way of life, our deep attachment to each other, our values. So, I know it's a personal question, and I apologize for being so rude, but I have to ask, can you help us to understand, Miss Chandler, why you are attracted to Vincent?"

Catherine smiled and nodded slightly, organizing her thoughts. "I want to congratulate you on your powers of perception, Renee. You are very accurate in your assessment of me. I am selfish, self-serving, greedy, shallow, consumed by appearances—"

"Catherine!" Vincent cried out, "no-!"

"It's true, Vincent, and I'm sure that's only half the list. But after I was attacked, and you cared for me, when I took the bandages off my face, my eyes were truly opened. I realized what a rare and wonderful person you are, and I wanted to be better. I wanted to be good enough to be your friend. You bring out the best in me…you make me want to be a better person, kinder, gentler, more understanding, more patient…and you make me feel better about myself than I've ever felt. So, I guess I am still very selfish."

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment. Though his throat was tight, he answered, "You are dear to me, Catherine."

"I, too, Miss Chandler, mean no disrespect," said Father, "but you must know that every time Vincent goes above, his life is at risk. I must ask you, what do you bring to him, that is worth his life?"

"Father," Vincent answered, "she brings me everything."

Renee's throat tightened; she almost winced from the pain in her chest.

~~ 0~~

They made their way down through the tunnels at an easy pace, hardly more than a stroll. He showed her the Whispering Bridge stretching over the Abyss, and the work they had done on a new, safer bridge. Pilings had been built on both sides, and Winslow had set up a forge to heat rivets. They even had a construction crane in place.

"How do you get the steel?" she asked. She was amazed—they had built the beginning of an arch twenty feet out from each side.

"Scrap from demolition," he answered.

He showed her the Abandoned Citadel, the Hot Springs and the Serpentine Maze. He explained that the soft, glowing, purple light that illuminated parts of their world came from phosphorescent bacteria growing on the walls, and billions of tiny glow worms who clung to the rooves of the caverns. Other caverns had rooves so high, fissures let in sunlight from the world above.

They stopped at the Great Falls to drink from the Sweet Spring, and rest. "This is one of my favorite places," he said as he stood leaning back against the rock wall, looking far out into the depths of the cavern.

She looked around at the giant falls, the stalactites and stalagmites, the river gently lapping the bank as it flowed away from the falls. The muted sound of the water rushing over the falls was soothing, and she could have easily spent hours as she was now, sitting on the bank, lost in daydreams.

His gaze drifted to her, and the sight of her warmed his heart. "I see dreams in your eyes, Catherine," he continued. "I've spent many hours here, reading…dreaming."

Her face took on a thoughtful expression; she cocked her head a bit, as if listening. She shook her head the slightest bit, and sighed. "I wonder, Vincent, if the time you spent here helped you to become the man you are. I wonder if time spent reading great writing and reflecting on its meaning has an influence on the person you become."

"I'm sure of it, Catherine."

"I don't think—no, I know I could not have taken more than three hours in my entire life to think about the great characters in the great stories, and compare them to the person I was, or the person I wanted to be." She paused, then said, "The person I wanted to be was a question that was never asked, a topic that never came up." Another pause. "I think—I'm sure, I did spend a lot of time listening to other people telling me who I needed to be, about who I ought to be, lawyer, socialite, aristocrat, who I ought to marry, marriage not optional, but rather, mandatory, to continue the line of aristocrats from whence I hail."

"It would be counterproductive for you to dream your own dreams when people are trying to push you into a mold."

She was silent for a moment, considering. "Good point," she said at last. "I wonder who I would be, if I hadn't been influenced by so many fine people of good intent?"

Vincent pondered for a moment, looking out over the water. "Who would you like to be?"

She shook her head slowly, and smiled. "I don't know, but I'd like to come back here and think about it."

He smiled back. "You are welcome to come here whenever you wish, but know this: no matter how often you come, you will never cease to be kind, warm, strong, and courageous." He walked slowly toward her. "You will always be honest and forthright," he offered her his hand to help her stand, "gentle, and so very lovely." He kissed the back of her hand tenderly, and held it in both of his own. She held his gaze for as long as she could, until a shyness unknown to her since childhood overwhelmed her. He felt it run through her, and he was charmed—she was adorable. He almost whispered, "Are you ready to go on?"

"Yes," she said, daring to make eye contact again.

Keeping hold of her hand, he led her to the path.

After hiking for some time through the canyon, they once again entered a tunnel. "I'll warn you, Catherine," he said, lighting a torch from the flame of one hanging on the wall, "this tunnel becomes very, very narrow before it widens again, and the roof is very low. Many people become very uncomfortable, claustrophobic, almost."

She nodded. "I've never had any kind of trouble with small spaces," she said hopefully.

They continued on the path, which eventually became so narrow that even walking single file, the walls scraped their sides. Vincent was stooping under the low roof, listening to Catherine talking about her time at Radcliffe, the people she'd known and the friends she'd made, when he felt the change come over her. Abruptly, she stopped speaking. "Catherine?" he asked.

He turned to look at her; her face had drained of color, and she looked almost gray. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead, and her breathing was fast and shallow.

"It's so dark, here, Vincent, and more than dark…it's like the darkness is pressing down on me— "

"No, Catherine, please don't be uneasy," he said, although he could feel her mounting fear. "In just a little while the tunnel will widen again, I promise."

"I'm having trouble breathing, Vincent, the air is stagnant! And it's so quiet—-I feel like I'm buried alive."

He sensed her anxiety quickly giving way to panic. "Catherine—you're safe. You're with me. Breathe slowly." She wasn't listening. "Take my hand," he said, and mentally added _Beloved_. She laced her fingers through his, and exhaled. He could feel her relax.

"Much better," she said. "Thank you. Sorry."

"No, no. No remorse."

"Not very courageous."

"Catherine, the rule in this world is that we accept help when it's offered. Does accepting help negate the many things you've done that took enormous bravery?"

"No," she said, and he squeezed her hand. _I am so very proud of you,_ he thought.

As they walked, she found herself unconsciously rubbing the fur on the back of his hand. It was very soft, and warm, and holding his hand made her feel happy.


	4. Chapter 4

Wednesday afternoon

The Governors sat around the Deliberation Table in silence, waiting for Bishop to speak. Bishop sat back from the table with his hands on his knees. Don and Robert were content to wait, but Kyle was getting antsy.

Finally, Bishop spoke. "What did we ever do to them to deserve to be treated like this?" He spoke softly, slowly.

"They've always acted like they were better than us. Every time my kid went over there to play, he'd come back repeating all their bullshit about 'use your words,' 'take turns,' 'don't bully the littler kids,'" snarled Kyle. "Like they knew it all about raising kids, and we didn't know anything."

"Look at it." He jut out his chin toward the maps spread out on the table. "We're not good enough to live amongst 'em. We're to be segregated. And separated. Three different areas, these two set fifty yards apart, then this third one set seventy-five yards from the second and over a hundred from the first." He sighed. "But they want to keep our children in the same dormitory as theirs. Not too subtle, are they?"

"Why didn't they just tell us 'no' if they didn't want us over there?" asked Robert.

"What could they be up to?" asked Ashley.

"How could they tell us 'no'?" asked Kyle. "Here we are with no water, nowhere to go. The great humanitarian, Father, would look like the meanest asshole in the world if he refused to let us have access to water."

"Isn't there anywhere else we could go where we wouldn't have to live near them?" asked Ashley.

"We've been over this a dozen times, Ashley," huffed Don. "The only other place where there's water is much, much deeper. There's no light, and it's too hot."

"So, they said, 'yes,' come on over and bring your kids, we found space for you all. And it turns out they want to split us up, and take our kids away," mused Bishop. "After all the times we saved them from starving. After years of being good neighbors." Bishop shook his head, still stunned.

"We helped them when they needed it, but now that we need help, they want to bust our chops!" yelled Kyle.

"I don't know who the hell they think they are, to tell us we got it all wrong and we have to come 'round to their way of thinking," growled Don.

Moira was studying the maps intensely. "The layout is very interesting."

Ashley looked up at the older woman. "How so?"

"Well," continued Moira, "let's label them as area one, two and three. Look at area one. There's only one path leading to it, and it goes through the Fainthearted's community." 'Fainthearted' was their appellation for the Tunnel Dwellers. "But beyond area one," she continued, "the path also leads to this reservoir, which feeds their aqueduct."

"They get most of their water from that aqueduct," said Don.

"Yes," Moira agreed. "Now look at area two. From the center of their settlement, they have to pass area two to reach over half the passageways to Topside. And finally, look here at area three."

"We'll be packed in like sardines," sneered Robert.

"Exactly," answered Moira. "They've underestimated our numbers. All of these areas taken together don't have enough chambers for all of us. So, we'll have to ask for more. My suggestion is that we use the excuse that the parents are concerned about being separated from their children, and we ask for them to be placed close to the children's dorm."

Bishop chuckled. He pointed at the map. "They would have to put us either here— "

"Where we could block the other half of their passageways to Topside," observed Ashley.

"Or they could put us here," concluded Bishop.

Don raised his eyebrows. "Cutting off their access to their own children," he said, amazed.

"But in any case, we will still have them surrounded," observed Moira.

The Griffins continued to study the map, and plan.


	5. Chapter 5

Wednesday evening

Catherine hugged a bag of groceries close and tightened her grip on the handle of her briefcase while she twisted the key in the deadbolt. She opened the door and flipped on the light switch, filling her apartment with soft light. _Huh, not quite 6:00,_ she mused. _It gets dark so early in the winter._

She set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, hung up her coat, put her briefcase on the dining table, and went into the bedroom. She changed out of her suit and heels into jeans and a tunic. The blisters on her feet looked raw…she went into the bathroom, and filled the tub with several inches of warm water. She sat on the side, and eased her feet in, wincing at the sting to her torn skin. _Ah, the high price of added height…_ she mused. The soap burned, and she sucked in her breath as she washed her feet. _I hope the god of justice is satisfied with my sacrifice…_ After she finished and had dried off, she applied bandages, pulled on a pair of slippers, and went to the kitchen.

She unpacked her groceries: a bottle of white wine, fruit, cheese. She poured herself a glass of wine, sliced an apple and some cheese; she rinsed off a cluster of deep blue concord grapes; she poured some pecans from a paper bag onto her plate. She carried her plate and wineglass to the table, set them down, and opened the curtains of the French doors. She turned on her stereo; romantic strains of classical music flowed softly through the apartment. She took a shawl from the closet and wrapped it around her shoulders. She picked up her wineglass, opened the doors of the balcony, and for a moment lost herself in the hypnotic allure of the sparkling city lights.

She sipped her wine, and moved out onto the balcony. She leaned against the brick railing, closed her eyes and let her head fall back. _What a day…what a day…_

"Catherine," a soft voice whispered from behind. She smiled, opened her eyes and turned.

"Vincent," she said, and moved into his embrace. She held him for a moment. He was strong and warm, and holding him felt marvelous. The circle of his arms shielded her from the cares of her day; all of her stress and strain melted away, and seeped into the balcony floor under her feet.

He held her tightly, and as closely as he could without squeezing her. _She is a pearl of great price,_ he mused.

He pulled away, and held her shoulders. "You're in pain."

"It's nothing; I've been on my feet all day, arguing in front of a judge. It's nothing."

She was about to change the subject, but he motioned toward the apartment. "Let's sit down."

They went in, and Catherine closed the French doors. He noticed the plate on the table. "You were about to sit down," he said.

"Let me get you some wine."

"Catherine, sit," he said, gently catching her by the arm. "I'll get it," he said as he guided her to her chair. He pulled another chair close, and lifted her legs to rest on the seat.

"The wine's on the counter, and the glasses are in the cabinet above it."

He went into the kitchen and poured a glass. He returned to her, and set his glass on the table. He lifted her legs, and sat down with them in his lap. He started to massage her calves. She let her head fall back, and she closed her eyes. "Your muscles are in knots," he said softly.

 _I have the most wonderful boyfriend ever…_ "Four-inch heels, power suit, in front of Judge Barton all day long, arguing against one motion after another. We're prosecuting a very complicated case against a very rich man with a team of very clever lawyers." She sipped her wine. "I don't know if we can win."

He took a sip of wine. "What sort of case is it?" He was interested in her work, but in reality, he asked just to hear the sound of her voice while she answered.

His strong, warm hands were massaging all the aches and kinks out of her calves and ankles. "It's basically a Ponzi scheme," she murmured. "The owner of a retirement community promised the residents a 200% return on their money. He told them he was buying gold low in Mexico and selling it high in Argentina." She smiled ruefully. "He bilked them out of their life savings, and he had them so fooled that they sent Christmas cards to him in his jail cell."

She reached for a slice of apple. "Thank you, Vincent, that feels so much better."

He glanced up at her. "You're still in pain…your feet…" He pulled off a slipper. He was dismayed by the sight of so many bandages. He looked at her, wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.

"They were new shoes…I was on my feet literally all day long…" He didn't look satisfied. She reached out for another slice of apple, leaned forward and fed it to him, as if that would placate him.

"Feed me some cheese with another slice of apple and I won't go into your closet right now and break off all the heels of your cruel shoes," he said with a straight face.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, my," she murmured, and fed him. He started to massage her feet; she offered him a pecan. As he took it, his lips brushed her fingers; her heart skipped a beat.

"Very sweet," he said softly, without looking up. She sucked the pecan's sugar coating off her thumb.

When he sensed that her pain had been relieved, he put her slippers back on, and lowered her feet to the ground. "Catherine," he said, "come below with me. I want you to see what's happened."

"What is it?"

"We're all very excited. I want you to see."

"Let me pull some boots on, and I'll meet you in the sub-basement."

The community was buzzing with activity. Everyone was carrying boxes. "Yes, we've had an incredible run of good luck," said Father. "All sorts of retail shops have gone out of business, leaving behind thousands of dollars' worth of inventory at the warehouses. And they even had the decency to leave carts for us to haul it all in." He stared hard at her. "Come now, Miss Chandler, do you think we're stupid?"

"Father!" Vincent exclaimed.

"Do you not see how utterly extraordinary a coincidence it is that three warehouses with all our needs all went out of business at once? Warehouses that had never existed before suddenly sprang up, and immediately went out of business?" He guffawed. "And had access to our tunnels, and left wheeled carts?"

The confusion on Vincent's face was more than Catherine could bear. His intelligence, loyalty, and love for the two most important people in his life were all set at odds against each other.

"Vincent," she whispered, "if I have offended you, please forgive me. I saw your food supplies running low—I couldn't let you and your friends go hungry. There are children, Vincent…how could I let them go hungry, when I've got more money than I could spend in a dozen lifetimes?"

"And since you were buying groceries, why not throw in a few household items? Perhaps a thousand pounds of beeswax, or a ton of soap base? I believe I'll enjoy the French Savon de Marseille the most."

"Father," Vincent said softly, "have some patience. She was only trying to help. She doesn't understand our ways."

"Perhaps not, but I'm sure she understands manipulation… patronization… intimidation…"

Catherine hit her boiling point. "I also understand ingratitude," she retorted.

"Catherine!" cried Vincent.

"I'm sorry, Vincent!" she answered. "You don't have any trouble with the other helpers giving as much as they can," she directed to Father. "I may have gone a little overboard, but I will never miss the money I spent on my donation to you. So, what's the difference?"

" _That_ is the difference! Where another helper would be limited to giving twenty pounds of rice, it's no problem at all for you to give twenty rice fields full of rice! Is it gratitude you're looking for? Here is your gratitude: thank you! Miss Chandler, for the foodstuffs and the household items, and I will thank you to never do anything like this again! You don't own us, Miss Chandler, and you never will!"

She was trembling and on the verge of tears. "Vincent, will you see me out, please?" she managed, voice shaking.

They walked briskly until her anger burned off. She slowed her pace as her spirit sank. Vincent put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

When he spoke, he spoke very softly. "Your apology…for helping us…it broke my heart. You have our deepest thanks, and our gratitude—sincere gratitude, Catherine. But, why did you go to such lengths to conceal yourself as the giver of such a great gift?"

She sighed. "Your father is a very clever man. He's right. If I came out of nowhere, raining money and goods on the community, they would feel like they owed me something. But they'd never be able to repay me. And when you feel like you owe someone you can't repay, you come to resent them."

He was silent for a moment. He moved his hand to her shoulder. "Is that why you were so generous? Because we helped you, and you felt like you had to repay us?"

She looked deeply into his eyes. "No," she whispered, and shook her head a little. "I did it because I wanted you to feel happy, like your problems were over, and you could relax. I wanted to give you a moment where you felt like you didn't have a single thing to worry about."

"Moments such as those are golden." He was deeply moved.

"I wanted to give you that because I care for you, Vincent, and I want you to have good things."

"You wanted to give me the most precious gift you could imagine."

"Yes."

His heart was so warm, his throat tightened. "You feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, pressing you down. You have many worries; many things trouble you."

"Yes."

"So, you wanted to give me relief, the most wonderful thing you could imagine, even if you felt like you had to lie to do it. Catherine, you have a beautiful, generous nature. You're a very kind person. If there were more people like you in your world, it would be a far better place. I want you to know something about my world: we do not fear the consequences of our choices. We live the way we do knowing that there are times when we will be cold and hungry, and we will see the ones we love suffering as well."

She sputtered and stammered. He interrupted her. "Catherine, you're trying to formulate your rebuttal. I have no doubt that if we were to debate, you would win. But that doesn't change the fact that we choose to live the way we do."

She studied him for a moment. "I'm speechless, which is quite an accomplishment. But I will say that strictly speaking, I didn't lie."

"You were going to let us believe what we'd misconstrued. Catherine," he took her hands in his, "I want nothing less than your complete honesty. Will you do that?"

She sighed again, frustrated. "So, I'm just going to have to learn how to live with my conscience? Watch you suffer when I have more than enough to take care of you all?"

"Your generosity fills my heart, Catherine, it truly does. But if that's what the community decides to do, then yes, that is what you must accept. There are times when it's difficult to respect someone's choice when it's very different from the one you would wish for them. But you must respect our choice. Catherine… this is what I'm asking you to do."

She stared up at him, silent for a moment, struggling with the concept. "Vincent, I've never known anyone so committed, so loyal to anything as you are to the principles of your community. Why—how are you so devoted?"

He smiled at her. "They are the principles of my father."

~~ 0 ~~

Vincent walked slowly back into Father's study. Father was seated at his desk, pouring over a ledger. Vincent sat in the chair beside the desk.

"Did you see her back to her apartment building?"

"Yes."

"Good. Yes…," he said, finishing his calculations. "…we have enough spaghetti to see us into the next millennium." He stood. "We must remember to ask Miss Chandler for some garlic bread," he added sarcastically.

"Father…please, can we discuss this? Why are you so… so…averse, so ill-disposed toward Catherine?"

"As I've already told you, Vincent, this woman will bring you nothing but heartache and sorrow."

"She wanted to help us, Father, but she suspected, rightly, that there was a very good chance that you would refuse to accept it. I can hardly believe that you would turn your back on the most important rule of our community."

"She is not a member of this community; our rules don't apply to her."

"You've moved past caution; you're being antagonistic toward her."

"This was nothing more than an attempt at manipulation, a first step toward making us dependent on her."

"She worked very hard to hide the source of her gift. How were we supposed to become dependent on her?"

Father was confused for a second. Vincent pushed, "Father, please, set aside your resentment for a moment and search your heart: what is the reason for your distrust of Catherine?"

He gazed into Vincent's eyes, and saw the pain he was suffering. He felt his profound love washing over him, engulfing him; he trusted his son's love. He released his fear, his resentment; he walked around to the front of his desk, and rested on it. He did as his son asked, and searched his heart.

He spoke slowly, for he was himself still coming to an understanding. "Let me tell you what I see. You have profound feelings for Catherine. You have opened your heart to her. But she does not feel the same way for you. She is grateful to you for saving her life on the night that you found her, and the other two times since then. She admires your fine mind, she enjoys sharing poetry and literature and music with you. She appreciates your gentleness and your strength."

"But?"

"But she does not love you, Vincent, and she might not ever come to love you."

"Because of my differences."

Father hung his head. "Because of your differences, yes." He sighed. "Vincent, you know, William's difference is that he has a gift for cooking, and we appreciate it. Mary's difference is that she helps the orphans to heal from their hurts, and grow proud and strong, and we see that as a gift, and we treasure it. Mouse's differences—well, Mouse has developed quite a few very helpful devices, and we do recognize and value his gift. Then there's you, Vincent. Because of your differences, you protect our community, and we value that, yes. But there's more. Your gentleness, your capacity for empathy has helped not only the children, but many of the adults here, too. Your intelligence has solved or helped to solve many of our problems for years. You've used your strength to build and repair a great deal of these tunnels. Your humor and clear-headedness have poured oil on our troubled waters for years, and that also has helped us to live as a community successfully. We treasure your differences, and we love you all the more because of them. But when Catherine Chandler looks at you, she sees your differences as something she must learn to overlook. And that is galling to me. She is not one of us, and she never will be. How could she be? She is a part of the system that condemned me, and damns the rest of us to exile."

"No, Father—"

"Yes, Vincent, there's no such thing as a wealthy person with integrity. The wealthy and powerful only want one thing: more wealth and more power. This is what Catherine wants, Vincent. She can never come to love you because she believes that her destiny is to merge with or acquire a man who can bring her a substantial rate of return on her investment in him."

Vincent stood and paced. "I don't believe that, Father."

"Do you think she loves you?"

"No."

"What is it that you think she feels for you?"

"I feel what she feels. I don't merely suppose, I know she has very warm, loving feelings for me. She feels that I am becoming her most dear friend. She is learning to trust me. She is learning not to fear me. She holds me close to her heart. She thinks about me every day. She is always happy to see me; she misses me after a day or two. When we part, she is sad."

Father considered this for a moment, then said, "None of that is the same as the love you feel for her."

"No, Father, but she is moving toward love. And I dare to dream that one day, she will feel about me the way I feel about her now."

Father made a sound of exasperation, frustration. "If you must fall in love, why can you not love one of the women Below? Rebecca, Renee, Sarah, any one of them would be a far better choice than Catherine Chandler."

Vincent looked at him for a moment, and smiled wryly. "Father… 'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.' We have bonded. She is the one for me."


	6. Chapter 6

Friday mid-morning

Catherine stood outside the loading dock of Bailey's Fish Market, in one of the two truck bays. She was dressed for cold weather in boots, leggings, long woolen coat and hood, and a long scarf wrapped around her neck. Joe stood next to her, also heavily bundled. They stood frowning, staring at the frozen body on the ground, as Detective Greg Hughes explained his theory.

"He died instantly; the back of his skull is cracked wide open. His third cervical vertebra is fractured, and his spine is severed. I'm sure that stain at your feet will turn out to be his blood. I'm absolutely sure he was standing on the dock and fell off, backward, landing on his head and neck on the pavement on the spot directly in front of you. His body was then moved off to the side, where it is now. There are no other injuries on his body, no bruises, no cuts…nothing. The manager tells me that almost half of his inventory has been stolen. All the pallets that had been delivered yesterday are gone. And he also noticed that the battery on the forklift was almost drained."

"So, someone pushed the guard off the dock, moved him out of the way, backed their truck into the bay, used the store forklift to load it up, and then they drove away?" Joe summarized.

"I agree that's what happened…but the order it all happened in…I don't know…maybe someone saw the guard fall off the dock first, they came over and checked it out, saw he was dead, and took advantage. People are smart, this neighborhood is full of people who have experience loading trucks with forklifts."

"So, someone saw him fall, and took advantage of the situation?" asked Catherine. "They saw the guard was dead, so they moved him out of the way, found a truck and loaded up?" She was doubtful.

"Look around, Cathy," Greg answered. "How many box trucks do you see right now, parked?" Dozens.

"I still think that would take quite an enterprising individual. And that would be cold-blooded, even for this neighborhood," said Joe.

"I don't know," said Greg, "times are tough, the guard…was beyond helping…"

"So, we know the events, but not necessarily the sequence," said Joe. "How did they get in?"

"We're still trying to figure that out," answered Greg. "There's no forced entry. The security system was disabled."

"Does that make it more likely that an employee is involved?" asked Catherine.

Greg shook his head, a little bewildered. "I don't know. I mean, maybe, but eight out of the fifteen businesses on these three blocks all used the same security system. Word gets around how it works. It's a cheap system; a lot of these small businesses use it."

"Did the manager have any ideas about how the burglars got in?" asked Joe.

"I couldn't get too much information out of him, he was trying to get his trash compactor working before the Fire Marshal caught him with a big mess on the floor."

"Cathy, try to talk to him," said Joe. "I see the M.E. coming; I'll see what he's got to say."

Catherine climbed the stairs to the loading dock, and stepped into the storeroom. She took her time, looking closely at the remaining stores, the forklift, the floor. She followed the unfinished perimeter of the store until she came upon a small, swarthy, balding man, struggling with a metal contraption she assumed was a trash compactor.

"Excuse me, sir," she called out to him. He looked up. "I'm Catherine Chandler, I'm with the District Attorney's office."

"Hello, Miss Chandler. I'm Anthony Pulice, I'm the owner."

"Oh, Detective Hughes thought you were the manager."

"I manage it, too."

"I'm sorry about your guard."

"He was my neighbor for twenty-three years. He was retired, he wanted to make a few extra dollars, so he worked a few nights a week. He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die."

"Have you been able to take an inventory on what's missing?"

"No, and I know it's gonna sound crazy, but I'm more worried about the Fire Marshall. If I get caught with this mess all over the floor, I'm scared he'll close me down. I got cited a few months ago just for having too many pallets stacked up." The floor surrounding the trash compactor was littered with boxes waiting to be crushed.

"Well, I can understand why you're worried, and I won't keep you. Just one more question, do you have any idea who might have done this, or how they got in?"

"It's beyond me, Miss Chandler. I had keys and the guard had keys, that's it. His keys are still on the ring on his belt." He was trying to stay calm, but he was struggling. "I don't even know where these freakin' boxes came from—this place was clean last night."

"Okay, Mr. Pulice, thanks for your time. And again, I'm sorry about your neighbor."

She returned to the loading dock bay. Joe was watching the men from the Medical Examiner's office begin their examination. He met Catherine at the foot of the stairs. "How about lunch?" he asked.

~~ 0 ~~

"How did they get in?" asked Joe over his cheeseburger. They chewed their sandwiches in silence.

"They must have hidden in the store yesterday, and waited for it to close," answered Catherine. "It's the only explanation."

"How, Cathy? It's a small store. Surely the manager checks to make sure it's empty before he locks up at night."

They fell silent again. At the next table, an older woman, a younger woman, and a toddler in a high chair were enjoying lunch. Catherine imagined they must be three generations. The younger woman pulled a scarf out of a small shopping bag, and was showing it to the older woman. The toddler leaned forward, and stretched her hand out for the shopping bag. She pulled it back stealthily, so the women wouldn't notice. The she put it over her head. The younger woman noticed immediately, and tapped the older woman on the forearm. "Wait a minute," Catherine could just make out the younger woman saying, "Mom, wait—where's Josie? I don't see her. Do you see her?"

The toddler began bouncing excitedly in her booster chair. "No, Amy," the older woman played along, "I don't see her. She was right there a second ago."

"Oh, no," the younger woman feigned distress quietly, "where could she be?" She called out without raising her voice, "Josie! Josie! Where are you?"

The toddler raised the bag just enough to expose her eyes. "Josie!" the women exclaimed quietly. "Where were you?" asked the younger woman.

The toddler was beaming with delight. She slowly lowered the bag back over her eyes, and the younger woman began the game again.

In her mind's eye, Catherine returned to Anthony Pulice standing in the trash compactor, at his wits' end, the floor all around strewn with boxes. "They were in there," she muttered. "Joe, they must have hidden in the trash compactor. They covered themselves up with boxes, but they disabled it so they wouldn't get crushed if anyone tried to run it."

He stared at her. "Okay, so they're hiding in the trash compactor," he joined her in her deduction. "Then the store closes."

"They wait until after midnight to start loading their truck."

"First, they disarm the security system," said Joe.

"The security guard was patrolling outside…he must've heard them running the forklift, moving stock close to the door."

Joe nodded. "So, he climbs the stairs and stands outside the dock door and listens. And unlucky for him, that's when they open the door. The guard loses his balance and falls backward, onto the pavement."

"They realize they can't do anything for him, so they move him aside, load up their truck, and drive off."

Joe's eyes narrowed. "How do we find them?"

They went back to eating, and fell silent again.

"They took a lot of food," mused Catherine. "A lot. Why so much? They've got to be trying to feed a lot of people."

"So, maybe a misguided crusader, someone running a soup kitchen, or a homeless shelter?" guessed Joe. "Or, maybe they're selling it." Catherine nodded. "Okay, you start making the rounds of the soup kitchens and food pantries, I'll start asking the patrolmen if they're aware of any black-market food action, and we'll see what turns up."

Later that afternoon, Joe called to Catherine from the doorway of his office. "Cathy, come on in for a minute. We've got some information on that homicide from this morning."

Greg Hughes was sitting across the desk from Joe. He stood up when Catherine entered. She took the chair next to him, and he sat back down.

"I asked Greg to see how many unsolved thefts of large amounts of food he had in his case files," said Joe. "Turns out there are quite a few."

"Three just in the last six months," added Greg. "Last year we made an arrest for a similar theft. It was a father and son team. Someone posted their bail, and we haven't seen them since. Here are their mug shots," he handed a file to Catherine. She opened the file and read the names captioned on the pictures: Bishop Griffin, Don Griffin, Robert Griffin.

"The security guard getting killed moves this from theft to murder," said Joe. "I'll petition the court for arrest warrants."


	7. Chapter 7

Saturday morning

Renee looked over the bolts of material that Sarah brought to the Exchange. Another helper, Lou, had been Sarah's neighbor when she was five years old. She walked past his barber shop every day for months on her way to and from school, after her family moved into the apartment next to his. Lou noticed how thin and listless she was, and had taken to calling her into the shop for before- and after-school 'snacks,' like meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, and green beans with bacon. He was annoyed by the way her family cranked up the volume on their television, until he started noticing bruises on her. One day he asked her, if she could go someplace where she would always have plenty to eat and no one would ever hurt her, would she miss her family? She said simply, 'no,' but she contemplated the loss of her family with a coldness in her eyes that no five-year-old child should have been capable of; it chilled his blood. He closed his shop and took her Below there and then. Growing up in the Tunnels, Sarah and Renee had grown close. Ever since Sarah had left the Tunnels, she'd returned every weekend for the market place at the Exchange. Helpers brought goods and food, the Tunnel Dwellers brought Mary's quilts, afghans, knitted scarves, gloves, mittens, hats, and sweaters, Rebecca's candles, Olivia's soaps, Cullen's handmade tables and chairs, William's bread and muffins. Some of the goods made Below were for the Helpers themselves; some, the Helpers took above and sold. The money went a long way toward providing for the needs of those Below.

Renee and Sarah sat in Renee's booth at the Exchange. Renee had brought a large assortment of clothes of all sizes. Tunnel Dwellers and Helpers gave her donations, and she washed them, mended them, embellished them, and she brought them to the Exchange to redistribute. They were enjoying a quiet moment with no 'customers,' watching the activity of the Exchange, everyone moving through all the goods, taking what they needed. Renee spotted Vincent and Catherine, arm in arm, admiring Narcissa's scented oils.

"What do you think of her?" asked Sarah.

Renee shrugged. "I guess she's okay."

"Yeah?"

Renee nodded judiciously. "Yeah, I guess so. She's kind of short. Kind of skinny. I guess she's pretty smart, a lawyer. Of course, she was working for her dad, so she could actually be a slouch, who knows?"

"Vincent seems to like her."

Renee saw the lovelight in his eyes; he couldn't look away from Catherine. "Yeah, I guess he likes her, alright."

"Renee," said Sarah quietly, "why don't you give up waiting for him, and grab some happiness for yourself?"

Renee didn't answer, but continued to watch Vincent.

Sarah sighed. "Vincent is great, but he's not that great. He's not the only guy in the world you could be happy with. You've been waiting for him for years, Renee. For years, one great guy after another has tried to get your attention, but you won't give anyone else a chance."

"I can't help it," whispered Renee. "I can't help how I feel."

Sarah looked down at the ground.

"He's the one, Sarah. He's the one for me."

"You're breaking my heart, you know it?" Sarah looked up with tears in her eyes. "You're so beautiful, so sweet and kind. So many men, good men, would be thrilled to spend their lives doing whatever it took to make you happy. And you could be happy, Renee. You could have a man that cherished you, and all the kids you wanted. But instead of that, you spend your time just… watching…him."

Renee shrugged again, and looked helplessly at her friend. She reached out and pulled Sarah close in a hug.

"This is fantastic, Vincent!" exclaimed Catherine as they made their way through the crowded Exchange. A long line of stalls was packed with all sorts of goods, and there were even a few food carts, as well. Catherine stepped up to Narcissa's booth. Narcissa had dozens of bottles that she used to mix custom perfumes. Narcissa was explaining how she would create a scent for Catherine when they were distracted by shouting.

William was red in the face, standing in front of the Griffins' booth, arguing with Don, who was standing inside it. "It doesn't matter, Don, you can't hit a kid like that!"

Vincent stepped up to the booth, and Catherine right behind him. She could just make out the figure of a child on the ground, inside the Griffins' booth.

"Who in the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can't do with my own kid?!" Don yelled back.

"Oh, for chrissake!" yelled Cullen as he strode forward to join William. "We're all sick of the way you treat your kids!"

"Who are you yelling at, you flea-bitten derelict?!" yelled Kyle from Don's side, and the four men fell to pushing and shoving.

That was when Catherine spotted it: a bag of Bailey's Breading, from Bailey's Fish Market. She slowly surveyed the contents of the entire booth. It was filled with sauces, breading, crackers, spices, all from Bailey's. Don Bishop was shoved into her view; she recognized him from his mug shot.

The fight was escalating; punches were being thrown, more people were becoming involved. Catherine was aware of being pulled back; she resisted, and was lifted off her feet as the fracas intensified.

~~ 0 ~~

"Vincent! Listen! Listen to me! I've got to tell you something!" she tried to yell. He was carrying her like a football, with his arm around her waist and her back pressed against his side. He held her so tightly she couldn't draw enough breath to yell very loudly, at all. They were just outside of Father's chamber, and he set her down. He charged into the chamber, Catherine on his heels.

"Vincent!" she yelled.

"Vincent?!" yelled Father, from within. "What's all this?"

"There's a fight going on at the Exchange," Vincent answered.

"What? A fight?" exclaimed Father, incredulous.

"Vincent!" yelled Catherine. "You've got to listen to me!" He turned and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Those men, they were the ones who robbed Bailey's Fish Market! They're responsible for the death of the guard!"

"How do you know this?" he asked.

"I recognized Don Bailey from his mug shot. And their booth, it was full of merchandise from Bailey's. It's the only way they could've gotten it."

"Who's fighting at the Exchange?" asked Father.

"It's the Griffins," Vincent answered, turning back to him. "William must've seen Don Griffin strike a child. The fight started when he confronted him."

"Come with me, Vincent! We've got to stop it!" he cried.

"After I take Catherine back," he answered.

"No!" yelled Catherine and Father at the same time.

"Catherine, you must return Above—"

"No!"

"—and stay Above—"

"Vincent—"

"I will come to your balcony tonight, but you must go, now. It's not safe for you here."

"Vincent, the Griffins are dangerous. Don't ask me to run for safety topside while you face trouble down here alone."

"He's not alone, Catherine," interjected Father. "We stand together. But do you really think it's fair to ask Vincent to deal with the Griffins, and our own people up in arms, while he's worrying about your safety from the front line of the fray?"

Catherine sighed. She hung her head, and shook it 'no.'

Vincent and Father exchanged a glance. "Please don't go out there until I return, Father," said Vincent, his voice gentle. He put his hand on Father's shoulder. "Don't make me worry about _you_ , please." Father nodded, reluctantly.

~~ 0 ~~

When the shoving started, Renee ran to the Griffins' booth. She jumped over the table in front, and landed next to the child crouching on the ground. Renee guessed she was a girl, under several layers of filth and grime. She was completely disoriented, raising up on all fours, swaying, falling back down. Sarah vaulted over the table and joined Renee.

"I'm pretty sure she has a concussion," said Renee. "We need to get her to the hospital chamber."

Sarah nodded. "I'll carry her, you clear a path. When you get tired, we'll switch."

Getting out of the booth was difficult, because it was where the fighting was the thickest. They didn't make any progress at all until Renee spotted a length of pipe and started swinging it, knocking the breath out of some, knocking others unconscious. They were halfway out of the Exchange when Zach elbowed his way to Sarah's side. He was carrying one of the Tunnel girls, and two Griffin children hung on to his clothing. Geoffrey and Samantha emerged from hiding places, and quickly followed.

Sarah tripped, and looked down to see what she'd caught her feet on. She was horrified to see a child. "Renee!" she yelled.

Renee turned, and looked down where Sarah indicated with a nod. She quickly bent down and grabbed the child's collar. She hated to drag him, but there was nothing else she could do. Her frustration, her fear, and her anger triggered a surge of adrenaline, and she fought ferociously—their path was cleared. They had entered the passageway, and were clear of the Exchange. Renee turned to take stock, and her blood froze in her veins as she saw Ashley Griffin behind Sarah, reaching up and grabbing handfuls of her hair, and yanking her down, flat on her back.

Renee set down the child she still held by the collar, and knelt down to assess Sarah. She never saw the attack coming; it knocked the breath out of her. The sound of her gasping for air was terrible. The child she had been holding was crouching on top of her, terrified, in shock, urine pooling on the ground beside her.

Ashley leaned down to grab the child. _Big mistake_ , thought Renee as she rose and drew her arm back to deliver a blow that would cave Ashley's head in.

Ashley blocked, and punched Renee in the stomach. Unlucky for her, Renee's abs were as hard as rock. All she accomplished was to piss her off. Renee dropped the pipe and grabbed Ashley's hair as close to her scalp as she could, with the intention of ramming her knee into Ashley's nose. Ashley turned her head in time, and Renee's kneecap went crashing into her eye socket, instead.

Renee kept her grip on Ashley's hair with her left hand, and used her right fist to pummel Ashley's face. She felt Ashley's nose go spongy, and her knees go out. A handful of Ashley's hair remained in her fist as Ashley's body hit the dirt.

Renee turned back to face Sarah and the children. She bent at the waist and put her hands on her thighs as she fought to catch her breath. She was unaware of Ashley rising up behind her, the discarded pipe in her hand. Renee saw Samantha's face go white with fear at something over her shoulder. She turned to look, and Ashley brought the pipe crashing down into her temple.

Renee clamped her hand to her head and roared in pain; she fell to her knees. But instead of pressing her advantage, Ashley dropped the pipe and again bent over the child Sarah had been carrying.

Renee looked up and saw red; she was so furious, the capillaries in her eyes had burst. She caught sight of Ashley, growled, snarled, and bared her teeth. Ashley looked up, terrified. She ran, Renee hot on her heels.

Ashley had no idea where she was going; she prayed she didn't hit a dead end. She knew Renee would kill her if she caught her. Her lungs were on fire and her thighs felt shredded, but she did not dare slow down. She made it through five junctions before Renee tackled her. They wrestled; they rolled; Renee put her hands around Ashley's throat and squeezed. Ashley threw a handful of dirt in Renee's eyes, and scrambled away as Renee reeled back.

Somehow, Ashley found the strength to run again, this time through two junctions before she heard Renee coming closer. She ran through another three junctions and skidded to a stop: she stood panting before the Abyss.

Renee burst onto the ledge, and smiled as she surmised the situation. She bent down and picked up the end of a long coil of rope, and tied a slipknot in it. The construction crane was little more than a long timber mounted at a sixty-degree angle on a rotating deck. She spun the deck, bringing the end of the crane within her reach. She tied the rope to the end of the crane, three feet above her slipknot.

Ashley, seeing the noose dangling from the crane, realized that Renee intended to hang her over the Abyss. She crouched as Renee came near, but this time, Renee threw a handful of dirt in Ashley's eyes, blinding her. Before Ashley could defend herself, Renee put the noose around her neck, and rotated the crane to hang out over the Abyss.

It was then, as Ashley was choking and kicking her legs in the air, that the Griffins came racing into the far side of the cavern. All they could do was watch their daughter, sister, wife, mother kick and thrash hysterically, lapse into unconsciousness, then go quiet, and limp. They were paralyzed with shock.

Renee was catching her breath, and starting to walk away when the noose started to slip off the crane. She happened to be standing in the length of that same rope when Ashley's body slipped off the crane. The length of rope tightened around her legs and pulled her off her feet, and dragged her toward the Abyss. A contingent of Tunnel folk had been trying to catch up to Renee, and Sarah reached the cavern just in time to see Renee grasping in vain at the loose dirt as she was pulled over the edge, and down the Abyss. Sarah's scream echoed Renee's as she plunged down, and had Winslow and Rebecca not held her back, she would've run to the edge.

~~ 0 ~~

Catherine didn't speak on the way up. Her throat was tight, and her legs felt like they were filled with lead. Mindful of his sensitivity to her feelings, she worked hard to keep her focus on her breathing, and on putting one foot in front of the other. When they reached the sliding door that led to the drainage tunnel, he took her hands in his.

"Catherine," he said. She kept her gaze focused on the dirt. "I know you're trying to shield your feelings from me…" he bent his head lower. "Catherine…please, look at me." Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. She squeezed his hands when she looked into the brilliant blue depths of his eyes. "I feel the storm inside you, Catherine," he whispered.

"It's wrong for me to leave," she whispered back.

He shook his head. "You must not put yourself in danger. I must know that you are safe, far away from the violence," his voice was low, and husky with emotion.

"What about you? You'll be in the middle of the danger. How can I—" she broke off, unable to finish. Her mouth twisted and tears spilled from her eyes. She lowered her head again, unwilling to let him see her crying.

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, and pressed his cheek to her head; her arms circled his waist, and held tight. He knew her unspoken fears, _how can I let you face danger without me, fighting beside you? How can I let you go, knowing you may be hurt, or perhaps that you may not come back to me at all?_ He longed to remain right where he was, holding her close, but he felt his family's need of his strength pulling him away. He gently pried her arms away, and guided her toward the door. He pulled the lever, and it slid back into the wall.

"No, Vincent…Vincent, please," whispered Catherine.

"Shhh…there, there, Catherine…Catherine…it will be alright, I promise. I will see you tonight on your balcony," he whispered, soothing her. He swung the gate open, and eased her out into the atrium. His breath caught as he pulled the gate to, and pulled the lever once more, shutting her out.

She grasped the bars of the gate in her hands, unable to move away.

He stretched out his arms and pressed his palms flat against the steel door, unable to move away. He felt her presence still on the other side, and immersed himself in the sensual memory of the moment just passed. He felt her warm body in his arms, and smelled her sweet scent rising up, delighting him. He felt the warmth of her love for him, her hunger for his love.

Her breathing was rapid and deep, and rested her brow on the bars, clutching the grate in her hands. She clung to the awareness of his body pressed tightly to hers, willing her fingers to still feel his strength, willing her ears to drink in the gravelly whisper of his voice, his voice that warmed her core and weakened her knees. She willed her lips to feel his upon them; she believed she could feel his kiss, soft and warm, gentle and sweet.

He pressed himself close against the door, and believed he could taste her lips, honey sweet, soft and sultry. His tongue would slide across her beautiful lips, and home, into her warm, delicious mouth.

She felt his arms circle her waist, and one hand reach up to cup the back of her head. His lips on hers were so warm, so soft…she relaxed and let go, and gently sucked his tongue as it caressed her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and filled her hands with his beautiful hair, pressing him even closer. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, and her nipples began to tingle.

He caressed her mouth with his tongue, filling her, tasting her…enjoying her. He felt her nipples harden, he felt her chest heaving as she panted, he heard her moan…he felt his pants tighten as he stiffened.

 _Oh, God…oh, God…ohGodohGodohGodohGod…gotta stop…don't wanna stop…gotta stop…don't wanna…gotta, gotta, gotta stop…stop…gotta stop…_

On both sides, each of them slowly pulled back, worked to slow their breathing down, blinked…then moved to the closest wall, put their backs to it, and slid down. They sat until they were rested.

Vincent was leaning forward, starting to rise, when he sensed Catherine's unease. He was moving toward the door when he heard a heavy banging on it. He pulled the lever, and the door slid aside to reveal Bishop Griffin holding a knife to Catherine's throat.

~~ 0 ~~

"Open it," Bishop Griffin shouted over the roar of the winds. They stood before the doors of the Great Hall, Vincent, Catherine, Bishop still holding his knife to her throat, Moira, Robert and Kyle.

Vincent lifted the wooden bar holding the door closed from its brackets, and leaned it against the rock wall. He opened the door, and Kyle shoved him in.

Almost the entire community was already there. Vincent immediately spotted Father. There were only a few Griffins in the hall; the community could have overpowered them easily. Vincent look questioningly at Father, who frowned and shook his head slightly. He nodded in the direction of the stairs; Vincent looked, and saw Mouse with a noose around his neck, and Don Griffin poised to push him off the landing. Several more Griffins stood close by.

Bishop pushed Catherine into Vincent, who caught her and steadied her, and strode into the hall, his family in tow.

"Listen up!" shouted Robert.

"What you bastards did today was unforgivable," said Bishop. "Unforgivable." He shook his head. "Ashley was a good woman, just trying to protect her daughter. And you savages killed her. What the hell did she ever do to you?"

"Bishop, let me tell you how sorry I am, we all are—" Father began.

"Shut up!" yelled Bishop. "One more word out of any of you, and Mouse swings." He paused and walked a few paces. "What did any of us ever do to any of you? We always helped you when you needed it. But when we lost our water— _water_ , for God's sake—it took you a month to decide to share your water with us. Then when you _allowed_ us to come over here, we weren't good enough to have quarters close to yours, and you didn't even let us stay together! You know, we have you outnumbered, we have twice as many men as you. We could have taken this place anytime we wanted to. Well…we're taking it now. We have your children. All your children." He paused. "I can see some of you don't believe me. Ask Mouse," he said, pointing.

"It's true," Mouse said. "We were swimming at the Crystal Pool when they came. Stephen and Brandon tried to stop them, but they killed them."

"If you want them back, I'm gonna need a complete surrender from you people. So, first, no one leaves the tunnels. And since we will be in charge from now on, you won't need your Council members anymore. So, you have one week to send seven of your leaders to us. We'll be waiting for you in the Exchange, bright and early Saturday morning." He paused, and walked a few paces. "Send seven of your leaders, your former leaders, that is, with nooses around their necks, because we are going to hang them by their necks until they are dead. And when you see Ashley in hell, you can tell her how sorry you are."

Bishop gestured to the group holding Mouse. They pulled him back to solid footing on the landing, then followed Bishop out of the hall.

Randolph, his wife Emily in tow, made their way through the crowd to Winslow's side. "Winslow," he yelled, "they've got our kids!"

Scott, with his wife Elisa, was right behind. "Ours, too! We've got to get them back!"

Vincent held Catherine's hand as he strode close to Father. "Vincent," he said, "I'm so sorry—when the fighting was raging in the Exchange, Sarah and Renee tried to help several children escape. One of the children was Ashley's daughter; Renee had no way of knowing that. Ashley came after her daughter, and Renee fought, thinking she was defending the child. Renee…she must have been out of her mind with fear and rage…Renee hanged Ashley by the neck from the construction crane over the Abyss." Vincent sank down onto a bench; Catherine knelt beside him. Father put his hand on Vincent's shoulder; he sat down next to him, and continued, "My son, I have something even worse to tell you. Renee became caught up in the coil of the same rope she used on Ashley; when Ashley's body slipped off the crane, Renee was dragged down into the Abyss. Vincent, I am so sorry."

Vincent stared at Father for a moment, horrified; then he held his face in his hands, and began to sob. Catherine sat next to him, and he buried his head on her shoulder. Father squeezed his shoulder, and mourned with him. After a time, his sobbing subsided, and Vincent rose; Father rose up next to him; they embraced for a long moment. Then he put his arm around Catherine's shoulders, and they left the hall.

"No! Vincent! Don't go!" yelled Randolph, running over. "Father, don't let him go! We've got to go get our kids!" Scott, Elisa and Emily were right behind him.

"I know you're upset, rightfully so. But I truly believe your children will be safe tonight."

"No! Father! It's my baby—" yelled Elisa. Her and Scott's baby girl, Suzanne, was only 10 months old.

"I'm very sorry, Elisa, I truly am, but Vincent is in no condition to fight right now. We've suffered many injuries—I haven't even begun to examine anyone. And we're all exhausted from the fighting we've done today. How could we even begin to launch an attack on the Griffins?"

"No! Father, don't say that!" Elisa shrieked. "We have to get him—" Scott took her by the elbow and shook his head. She burst into tears, and buried her face in her hands. Scott nodded understanding to Father, and gently led Elisa away. Randolph and Emily nodded sadly, and followed.

Father looked down, defeated. Winslow put a hand on his shoulder. Father raised his voice so everyone could hear, "Everyone who is injured, please meet me in the hospital chamber. And everyone else might as well return to their chambers. Tomorrow morning will be early enough to begin—planning."


	8. Chapter 8

Saturday night

Vincent sat stiffly at his desk, his hands folded on the tabletop, his head bowed. Catherine entered his chamber with two steaming mugs of tea. She set one at Vincent's side, and sat down with the other in hand. She regarded him for a moment, taking his measure; her sense was that he did not want to talk, so she sat at the table with him, sharing his grief in silence.

She stared into her teacup, and thought about how painful it was to lose people you loved. Her own mother had died when she was ten years old; she was still working through that grief. She had been told her mother was ill; her mother had told her she didn't have long to live. Catherine had time to prepare for her loss. What kind of a shock must it be for him to have a sister in one moment, but lose her in the next? She laid her hand on top of his.

"Vincent? Maybe you should try to lie down and get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a hard day to get through. The Community will need you."

He shook his head. "I can't rest. Catherine—I want to rage, to run…to run until I drop from exhaustion. The Abyss…it must be several miles deep…when I think about Renee, falling and falling…and there's nothing I can do to save her…oh, Catherine!" He began sobbing again.

She brushed the hair out of his face, and noticed how hot he felt. She rose and went to his washstand, and returned with a damp, cool cloth. Very gently, she pressed it to his forehead, and dabbed at his eyes. She rubbed her hand across his shoulders and felt the tension. She began to massage his shoulders.

After a few minutes, he sighed. He raised his mug, and she paused to let him sip from it. "Renee was the best sister a boy could have," he murmured.

"Tell me about her."

"She was only two years older than me, but she loved to spoil me. She read to me every night, at bedtime." He chuckled softly. "She would hide me at bath time and nap time. She let me eat her desserts at dinner. She would often let me tag along when she went hiking or swimming with her friends. She used to have wonderful tea parties; she would invite her most special friends, and she always saved a place for me. My brother, Devin, had a terrible crush on her; it drove him wild that I was invited, and he was not. She told me her secrets; I told her mine. How—how can she be gone? My head aches, thinking about it."

Catherine wrung out the cloth in the basin once more, and held it to his forehead.

"Lay down, Vincent? It will help."

He sighed, then nodded. "Catherine, you, also, should rest. Let me show you to a guest chamber."

She hesitated. "I'd like to stay with you."

He smiled ever so slightly. "I would like very much for you to stay with me." He eased himself down on his bed, and laid back on the pillows. She wrung out the cloth once more, sat on the edge of his bed, and held it to his neck; then she laid it across his brow.

"Shall I read to you?" she asked. He nodded.

She picked up a book from the nightstand; he removed the cloth from his forehead, and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

He reached over and turned some pages. "Ah," she said, "John Donne." She read:

Death be not proud, though some have called thee  
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,  
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,  
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.  
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,  
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,  
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,  
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.  
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,  
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,  
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,  
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?  
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,  
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

She felt him breathing deeply and evenly; she glanced over. He was sleeping; his beauty was angelic in sleep. She stared at him, following every line in his face. Very gently, she kissed his cheek. She returned to the anthology, Edna St. Vincent Millay:

The courage that my mother had  
Went with her, and is with her still:  
Rock from New England quarried;  
Now granite in a granite hill. The golden brooch my mother wore  
She left behind for me to wear;  
I have no thing I treasure more:  
Yet, it is something I could spare.

He was so very warm, she cuddled into his chest, sighing with contentment. She inhaled deeply, savoring the unique essence of his skin, wafting on the waves of his body heat…it was soporific, and she was getting drowsy. She continued:

Oh, if instead she'd left to me  
The thing she took into the grave!—  
That courage like a rock, which she

—and here the print began to swim—

Has… no more… need of… and I have.

She slept.

Pascal, Winslow, Rebecca and Father filed slowly into the Library, and sank down into the chairs. It had taken all of them, plus Mary and Narcissa, to get Sarah to go to a guest chamber and lie down: she had been hysterical. She slept now, only because Narcissa had convinced her to drink one of her potions, much to Father's annoyance. But Sarah took it, because she couldn't stand the pain. Mary and Narcissa were spending the night in the chamber with her, because they were sure she wouldn't sleep through the night.

And so, they sat together in the Library, themselves now unable to sleep, Father, Rebecca, Winslow, Pascal. Father sat at his desk, rested his elbows on the desktop and his chin on his clasped hands. Pascal leaned his back against a bookcase, and folded his arms across his chest. Rebecca and Winslow sat down in arm chairs, and stared into space.

Winslow was almost startled when Father was beside him, pushing a mug of tea into his hands. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Father," he said very softly. "I was remembering a time when we were kids, and-I don't know if you ever knew how much Mitch Denton used to pick on Vincent, but it was pretty bad. There was this one time when we were all eight, or nine, maybe ten, Rebecca, remember? Pascal, do you remember when Renee got so mad at Mitch for pouring glue into Vincent's hair?" They all chuckled softly, raised their eyebrows, nodded.

"Oh, my god, what a mess that was," answered Rebecca.

Pascal guffawed, one loud burst. "Oh, yes…she made mincemeat out of Mitch's face…"

Winslow shook his head. "Yeah, she had that temper…she would go for months, or over a year, but then someone would do the exactly wrong thing, the one thing that would set her off, and…" he shook his head again, "…and, boom-boom, out went the lights." And they all chuckled and nodded, remembering.

"But, she hadn't gotten angry for…" Pascal paused and shook his head slightly, recollecting, "…for years, I think."

"No," agreed Rebecca. "She seemed melancholy this last year. Now we know why." She sighed. "She was so in love with Vincent, and he never saw it. She was always a sister to him."

"They were so alike, Vincent and Renee," said Pascal.

"Especially with the temper, the temper…outbursts," agreed Winslow.

"But with their gentleness, too," said Rebecca quickly.

"True," agreed Winslow. "Renee was one of the most tender-hearted people I ever met."

"She was kind of everyone's big sister," said Pascal.

There was a pause; then Rebecca's mouth twisted, and she sniffed. "I can't believe…she's gone…"

As the tears coursed down her cheeks, Winslow too, began to cry. Pascal buried his face in his hand as he broke down.

 _And my last act toward her was to manipulate her_ , thought Father, and the tears of his sorrow mingled with the burning shame of his guilt.


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday morning

The next morning after breakfast, William poured boiling water into a teapot, soaking the teabag. He put the lid on the pot, and carried it to the table.

He set it down on the trivet in the center, next to the coffeepot. He spread his palms flat on the table, and rested his weight on his hands. Mary, Father, Catherine: each sat with head down, shoulders hunched; each was lost in their own thoughts.

They straightened when the first survey team returned. Winslow, Olivia and Pascal walked into the dining hall slowly, eyes downcast. "They were waiting for us," announced Winslow, unwilling to allow any anticipation to build. The second team, Kanin, Rebecca and Mackenzie entered the same way, slowly, defeated. They could barely raise their eyes.

Father stood, and cleared his throat. "Your mission was to survey our access to Above, or even out of our central chambers. You have shown exemplary bravery in accomplishing your mission. You are to be proud of yourselves. In no way have any of you failed. Let's have no more of these downcast, crestfallen looks."

They all sat or stood, took coffee or tea. Catherine couldn't stop glancing at the entrances every few minutes. Finally, Mouse came racing in, followed by Scott, Elisa, Randolph and Emily. She exhaled a sigh of relief; she knew Vincent was only a few steps behind. And although by now she knew him very well, she still sucked in her breath sharply at his long, purposeful stride, at the regal way he carried himself. She rose, and stepped forward to meet him. He smiled softly, and took both her hands in his. They found two seats together, and sat down. "Let me get you some tea," she said, and he let her. As she poured, Winslow spoke, "Several of the cisterns are missing. It's pretty clear the Griffins filled them with water and took them back to their camp." He paused. "What did you find out?"

Randolph spoke. "It went very well. We approached the guards at Charing Cross," the name the Tunnel Dwellers had given the location, "and Elisa and Emily were very convincing, crying their eyes out and begging to see the children."

"We weren't acting," said Emily, putting her arm around Elisa's shoulders.

"No, of course not," said Father.

Father watched as Catherine set Vincent's mug down before him, and sat down next to him. His eyes were shining, and she smiled at him. He forgot to breathe as he watched his son nuzzle at the woman's ear. _Our lives are ending, it's very possible our world is ending,_ he thought, _and he's whispering sweet nothings in her ear…_

Vincent leaned close to Catherine's ear, and whispered, "When I woke up holding you this morning, I felt such joy, for a moment I forgot about our problems."

"I never felt so warm and happy as I felt in your arms," she answered.

Reluctantly, they turned their attention to the discussion that was underway.

"So, they created a lot of noise, Scott and I pretended to try to calm them down. Just like we thought, more and more Griffins converged on the scene, and it got really confusing. ALL of them were giving us advice," said Randolph.

"Me and Vincent sl-i-i-i-i-p away, into fissure that leads into Trafalgar Square," said Mouse. "We climb up to lookout point; we can see whole Square. We see our children. They play tag, jump rope, kick ball with each other and Griffin kids. Laugh, have fun."

"We watched them playing with the babies, then feeding them, then putting them down on blankets," said Vincent.

"Well, watching children when they're having fun and getting along is easy," said Mary. "It's when there are problems that it gets stressful."

Mouse nodded. "Samantha and Kipper get into big fight over kick ball. Samantha says in bounds, Kipper says out of bounds. They start shoving each other. Griffins start yelling at them. Zach tells the Griffins, 'No yelling. Make them sit out.' Griffins separate them, make them sit out for five turns. Then ask them if they're ready to make up." He paused. "They made up; shook hands," he concluded.

"Well," said Pascal, "that sounds…encouraging."

"We all feel better about them being over there," said Scott. "They might be okay."

"We can go back in a few days and observe them again," said Vincent.

"Yes," "Let's do that," "Okay," the parents assented.

"So," said Winslow, "what are we gonna do?"

"There's so much to think about," said Pascal. "It sounds like the children will be alright for a few days. Should we still try to rescue them?"

"'Should we'?" echoed Mackenzie. "Is there any question?"

"Do you think the Griffins would hurt them?" asked Rebecca.

"Why would the Griffins harm them?" Father asked. "No, the children are probably frightened, and they might be uncomfortable, but the Griffins have nothing to gain by harming them. It's us they want to hurt."

"Yes, Father, but we can't very well fight the Griffins with the children over there," said Mackenzie. "We have to get them."

Father remained silent.

"Maybe we shouldn't fight," said Mary.

"What do you mean?" asked Olivia.

"Maybe we should try to negotiate better terms," said Father, "perhaps just a few of our leaders, instead of seven. Or perhaps just one."

"No, Father," said Mary, "I wouldn't let you go alone. Two."

"How about none?" asked Winslow, rhetorically.

Vincent took Catherine's hand, and raised it to his lips.

"Three," said Pascal.

"Pascal!" cried Olivia. "No!"

"Four," said Vincent. Catherine squeezed his hand. "No," she whispered.

"Goddammit, Vincent, are you going to give up, too?!" yelled Mackenzie.

"Now is not the time for raised voices, Mack," admonished Father.

"If now's not the time, I sure as hell don't know when is!" yelled Winslow. "Father, have you not always said that we could never fail to find solutions to our problems?"

"That doesn't mean we're going to be happy with the solution," answered Father. "But it does mean that each one of us will always do the thing that is best for the community."

"Look, we've got to fight!" roared William. "What kind of life do you think we'd have at the mercy of the Griffins?"

"That's exactly right," said Rebecca. "Father, do you think if you were to give yourself up, that we could go on living here as we do now? It's naïve to think the Griffins would let us live in peace."

"Rebecca's right, they'd make slaves out of us," said Olivia.

"If they even let all of us live. They'd probably kill the men," said Cullen.

"I don't believe that Cullen," said Pascal. "They were never violent toward us."

"Does it make a difference if they kill us outright, or get drunk and kill us in fights two months from now?" asked Kanin. "I think our days are numbered, all of us."

"They couldn't kill everyone," replied Father. "They need people to go out and forage for them."

"They've got people foraging for them," answered Winslow.

"Yes, but with our greater numbers adding to their ranks—" Father started.

"We won't be adding to their ranks if we're dead," Cullen interrupted.

"The Griffins are a family. They don't want anyone in their group that isn't part of the family," said Mackenzie. "They have more men than women already. It's obvious they'd want to kill our men, and enslave our women."

Father sat back in his chair and reconsidered.

"But how can we fight?" asked Pascal. "We're outnumbered. Even if the women fight, they still outnumber us."

"Which would make a difference if we tried to fight a pitched battle," a voice answered from the entrance. Everyone looked: it was Sarah. She walked in steadily. "But if we fight a guerrilla war, we could beat them."

"Guerrilla war?" asked Mary. She looked at her with kind eyes. "Sarah. You're distraught."

"Mary," she answered. "I'm determined. I'm going to start killing them, and I won't stop until I'm swimming in their blood."

"Sarah…" said Father, coming out of his reverie, "…what are you saying? That we lie in wait and slit their throats a few at a time?"

"How do we do that, Sarah?" asked Winslow. "Do we lie in wait for stragglers to use the bathroom?" he sneered.

"Good idea," she answered.

"You're talking about very some very dirty work," said Vincent. "Very cold. Who among us is capable of doing it?" He paused to look her directly in the eye. "Aside from you and me."

"It doesn't really matter to me, Vincent," she answered. "If no one wants to go with me, I'll go alone."

"It's not cold to want to survive, Vincent," said Mackenzie. "I'm with you, Sarah."

"Count me in," said Cullen, "'cuz one way or another, I'm already dead."

"Are you so sure you can do it?" asked Vincent. "How do you think it would be? To lie in wait for your victim…to watch him approach…and then, at just the right moment, sneak up behind him," he demonstrated on Sarah, moving behind her, lifting her chin, pantomiming stabbing her in the neck.

She parried by grabbing his arm and flipping him over her shoulder. He lay sprawled at her feet; she put the tip of her boot on his neck. "You think you know so goddamn much, Vincent! But if it weren't for you, Renee would still be alive!"

"Sarah!" yelled Winslow. Mackenzie rushed to pull Sarah back, while Winslow helped Vincent up.

"She loved you, Vincent! She loved you, and you cut her every day! You never looked twice at her!"

"She was a _sister_ to me, Sarah! I didn't know!" He caught his breath, and spoke more calmly. "I didn't know. But even if I had, there would have been nothing I could have done. She was my _sister_."

Sarah turned, buried her face in Mackenzie's shoulder, and wept.

Vincent trained his eyes on the ground. "I did love her, Sarah. I loved her very, very much."

Mackenzie walked Sarah out of the hall, slowly, soothing her.

Vincent rejoined Catherine at the table, and Winslow sat next to him. Catherine rubbed his arm softly. No one spoke for several minutes.

Olivia cleared her throat. "Vincent…we understand. If you had been biological brother and sister, you couldn't have been closer. I didn't know how she really felt about you until Sarah told us last night. None of us knew."

Again, there was a long silence for several minutes; no one knew what to say. At last, Mary spoke.

"'She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word.'" The others looked at her, bemused. "That speech has been going around and around in my head all morning. Our time is up. No matter what we decide to do or not do, our time as a community is over. And for seven of us, our lives will be over. And what did it all mean?"

After a moment, Winslow spoke. "'Life's a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.' That's my life. I wasted it. I wanted a family. I'll never have children. I'll die never having the love of a good woman."

"Devin…" murmured Father, to himself, really. "Devin will never know how much I loved him."

"I would've liked children," said Kanin to Olivia, "but I couldn't ask for more happiness than what I've found with you, Olivia. I feel like my life is complete."

Cullen looked at the couples with icy eyes. "I'm very happy for those of you who have met that special someone, and found true love. I really am. But I'm not ready to die. There are a lot of things I still want to do. And I'm not ready to go down without a fight, either."

"But how can we fight, Cullen?" asked Pascal.

"Like Sarah said, we take them down a few at a time," he answered.

"And you think you can do that?" asked Mary. "Coldly, like Vincent said?"

"In the first place, how is it cold? I'm fighting for my life; that's something I'm excited about. Secondly, it would be helpful if Vincent would fight with us. So, what's it gonna be, Vincent?"

Vincent said nothing, but sighed.

"Well?" challenged Cullen.

"Is that what my life was about?" asked Vincent. "Slaughter?"

"You need to realize what it costs him when he fights, Cullen," admonished Father.

"Oh, my god, are you serious right now?" Cullen was incredulous. "We are talking about survival. I think that's a little more important that wounded feelings."

"Perhaps if they were your 'wounded feelings,' you might take them more seriously," answered Vincent. "Perhaps if you had to question your humanity—"

"Vincent," interrupted William, "what you need to question right now is whether or not you want to give Catherine a chance to live. Think about it. Let's say you go sacrifice yourself. Once you're gone, would they let her go? If you're dead, she doesn't have any reason to keep this place secret anymore."

"I would never reveal this place, not ever!" yelled Catherine.

"The Griffins might not be convinced of that. So, after they kill Vincent, they kill you. But let's say instead that Vincent doesn't put a noose around his neck and walk over there, and he lets someone else go, instead. Would they let him live? Of course not, he's too much of a threat. And after he's gone, would they let you live, an Investigator with the District Attorney's Office? No. So, let's say we fight, and lose. At least you'll die fighting, fast and clean, as opposed to whatever they might do to you before they kill you."

"The Griffins aren't worried about killing in cold blood," said Olivia, and everyone stopped to consider that.

Father cleared his throat. "For the sake of argument, let's say we were going to fight. How could we do it?"

And the discussion carried on for the rest of the day. Plans were considered, discussed, discarded, and new plans were generated. Positions were taken, abandoned, re-taken. William cooked, the community ate, then retired, each to his own chamber.


	10. Chapter 10

Sunday night

That evening, Mary appeared at William's doorway. "William?" she called out. "May I come in?"

He hurried to the doorway to greet her. "Mary, yes, come in, please." He took her elbow and ushered her to an arm chair. "Please, sit down." He sat down in a chair across from her. "I'm glad you came; I could use some company."

"Yes," she agreed, "without the children, I have so much extra time on my hands."

"Exactly. I've got less to do, so that gives me time to sit here and think. I'd forgotten how frightening it is, to think."

"Terrifying," she agreed. "William, what do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. I really don't know. Every time I think I know, I immediately second guess myself." She nodded. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. I agree with everything that's been said. I think that once we sacrifice seven of ourselves, the Griffins will slaughter the rest of us, some immediately, some over time. So, it doesn't make sense to not fight them, but at the same time, we don't have any chance at all of winning. What do we do? We can't hide, because we don't know what they'd do to the children."

"You really have thought of everything."

"Except an answer. And unless someone thinks of something, our days are numbered."

Kanin and Olivia sat on the bank on the Little Blue River, watching the Great Falls. He held her close with his arm around her back; she rested her head on his shoulder.

"What are we gonna do, Livy?" he murmured into her hair.

"I think seven of us are going to march down to the Exchange in a few days, with nooses around our necks," she answered softly.

Kanin was silent for a few minutes, pondering such an event. "Who's going to be the seven?" he asked finally.

Olivia sighed. "Well, Father will be the first, no doubt about that. Then, Mary—"

"Yeah, she couldn't go a day without Father."

"Hmm, I think she actually could. I just think she's a natural second. Vincent's the one who couldn't live without Father."

"He'd be number three. Then who?"

Her eyes moved from left to right, watching Khayyam's moving finger write out their fate. "Winslow and Pascal, I think."

"Wow. Then who?"

When she didn't answer, he asked again, "Liv?"

"Well. Let's see."

Kanin's stomach lurched. He leaned back to look Olivia in the eye.

"No, Liv."

"Kanin—"

"I said, no! How could you even think that?"

"If Rebecca and I—"

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little. "NO!" he yelled, and jumped up.

She rose to her feet, but he moved away from her.

"What the hell are you thinking, Liv?"

"Kanin…you know I was born down here. My mother ran away from home because her parents were from the old country, and they wanted to marry her off when she was thirteen. My dad's parents were drunks who almost beat him to death. He ran away when he was eleven. This community accepted both of them, raised them, and helped them raise me. These people, they're my family."

"I understand, but Liv…I'm your family. _I'm_ your family. I might as well jump down the Abyss right now, as listen to you talk about giving yourself to the Griffins." He paused. "If you're number six, I'm number seven."

"No, Kanin. No, I never meant for you—"

"Yeah. But there it is, Liv. Without you, there's no me."


	11. Chapter 11

Monday morning

"You're sure you want to do this?" Catherine asked.

"Positive," answered Vincent.

They were seated in Father's study, staring across the table at each other. Seated at his desk, Father looked on, mildly annoyed.

"But if you're afraid," he said smoothly, "it's not too late to change your mind."

She looked deeply into his eyes. "Do I look like I'm afraid?" she returned just as smoothly.

He raised an eyebrow: was it courage, or recklessness? He extended his closed fists. She tapped his left hand. He opened it to reveal the white queen.

"Yours will be the first move," he said. "You see we each have a light-colored square at the bottom, on our right-hand side. Do you know how each piece moves?"

She touched the pieces as she spoke of them. "Pawns, forward to progress, diagonal to capture, one space at a time."

"Except on their first move, when they can move two forward spaces."

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that. Thank you." She smiled, and he bowed his head. "The rook moves forward and backward, and side to side, as many spaces as he wants. The knight moves two spaces, then one to the left or right. He's the only one that can jump over other pieces. The bishop can move any number of space he wants, on the diagonal. The queen can move any direction, any number of spaces, but she can't jump over pieces. The king can move any direction, but only one space at a time."

"So, the king is the most important piece, because he determines win or loss. But the queen," he picked up the black queen, and stayed focused on it as he spoke, "the queen is the most powerful piece."

She remained silent, as Vincent appeared to be lost in thought.

"Sorry," he said, coming to himself. "My mind wandered. I was thinking about the Griffins. This is true of the Griffins as well, Bishop is the most important person, but Moira is the most powerful." He paused for a moment longer. "Let's move on to basic strategy."

Cullen strode in, and surveyed the scene. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "What are you doing? Our lives are on the line, and you're playing chess?"

"I am trying to think of options, Cullen," answered Vincent.

Cullen flopped down in an armchair. "Unbelievable. Father?"

He sighed. "I'm taking a break from thinking."

Pascal emerged from the stacks, browsing through the book he'd chosen.

"I'll set up the board with the pieces in various positions, and we'll discuss the best strategic move that can be made," Vincent said to Catherine as he arranged the board. Breadcrumbs fell down and landed on the table beside her hand; Catherine glanced up and saw Mouse and Jamie, observing from the balcony above. Mouse was still eating toast from breakfast.

She returned her attention to the board. Vincent had finished his arrangement, and sat with his hands folded. "Survey the board, Catherine. Now, tell me what move you would make?" She hesitated.

"Think of it like this, Catherine: give the pieces pretend point values," volunteered Jamie. "Play like the pawns are worth one point, the bishops and the knights are worth three, the rooks are worth five, and the queen is worth nine."

"What's the king worth?" she asked.

"No points for the king," said Mouse. "Capture king, game over."

"When did you start playing chess, Mouse?" asked Cullen.

"Mouse never played chess," he answered. "Mouse watches."

"Also keep in mind your objectives," added Father. "Your main objective is to mate the king. After that, you try to win a piece, and if that is not possible, you try to promote a pawn."

"So much good advice," said Vincent, eyes twinkling with amusement. "So, Catherine, what move will you make?"

She touched a knight. The entire room sucked in its breath. She re-examined, and realized her king would've been mated immediately by a rook. She pulled back her hand. She touched her king—they all howled and waved their hands. She pulled back her hand. She took a breath. She moved her queen, and took his bishop. The room cheered, and she smiled.

"Bet you never saw that coming, Vincent!" said Jamie.

He looked up to see Mary, Mac and Sarah had entered the room, and were also watching the lesson. "No," he said. "I never saw it coming." He covered one of Catherine's hands with his own. "Let's have some tea."

He rose and moved to the desk where Father had a pot, and poured a mug. He offered it to Catherine, and poured another for himself. "What if there were a way we could attack the Griffins, where they could not see us coming?"

"No way, Vincent. There's only one way in there," answered Mac.

"What if the attack came from within? What if they were to attack each other?" asked Vincent.

"They always fight each other," said Mouse.

"What if this fight was worse than usual? What if…jealousy is one of the most powerful feelings we have. What if one of them became jealous of another?"

"I'm sure they're already very jealous of each other," said Mary.

"What if one of them thought Bishop was playing favorites?" asked Catherine.

"What if Moira thought Bishop was favoring someone else's kids over hers?" asked Sarah.

"Bishop fathered children with another woman beside Moira?" asked Catherine.

"At least," quipped Pascal. "He had Don and Robert with his first wife—"

"'Wife'?" interjected Father.

"Figure of speech, Father—then he had Kyle with Moira, then there was an indiscretion, or two."

"What ever happened to his first wife?" asked Catherine.

"After Moira was made Number One, no one ever saw his first wife again," answered Pascal.

"It's most likely that Moira either killed her or had her killed," added Mary.

"She might still be trying to compete with a memory," Catherine pointed out, "and jealous of any attention or favoritism Bishop shows to Don or Robert over Kyle."

Vincent floated the idea, "What if we could make Moira think that Bishop had given Don a gift, but had not given one to Kyle?"

"What kind of a gift could we use?" asked Mary.

"We could paint a rock black—if Kyle saw Don with it, he'd go out of his mind," said Father.

"Let's do that," said Vincent. "Mouse, you have that beautiful piece of black obsidian, can we use it?"

"Sure!" Mouse readily agreed.

"Fine. Can you mount it on a brass setting, and make a chain for it?"

"Can do!"

"I can help make the chain," volunteered Jamie.

"I think we could sneak it to one of the children," said Mac.

"I know!" exclaimed Sarah. "We sneak it to Samantha, tell her to give it to Don, and then spread a rumor that Bishop gave it to Don!"

"Perfect!" exclaimed Catherine. Winslow, Mouse and Jamie worked together to create the piece, and when it was finished, it was exquisite. Mouse had carved the obsidian into an oval shape, and mounted it in the middle of a brass Cross of St. James that Winslow helped forge. Jamie had worked brass wire into a beautiful, thick, twisted chain.

Once again, Randolph and Emily, Scott and Elisa, with Mac, Sarah, Winslow and Mary lagging at their fringe, made the crossing to Charing Cross to beg the same guards to let them visit their children. And this time, Sarah and Mac sidled, slid, squeezed and crawled through the fissure to where they could see the children playing. Mac saw Samantha, and tapped pipe code to draw her over. He quickly gave her instructions, and gave her the necklace. She scampered quickly back to the games, before she was missed.

They returned to the staging area, all wearing broad smiles. "Mission accomplished," announced Elisa to the gathered community.


	12. Chapter 12

Monday evening

Just before dinner, Samantha looked around carefully, feigning stealth while in reality making sure Don Griffin saw her. She stole away to the girls' dorm, saw she was alone, and unwrapped the necklace. She was going to make a show of admiring it, but when she saw it, she was stunned in reality by its beauty. She pulled out the cuff of her sweater to polish it reverently. She very carefully tried it on, and examined the results in the mirror.

She was completely unaware of Don stealing up behind her until she noticed him in the mirror. She gave a little squawk of surprise and fear before he covered her mouth with his hand.

"Shh!" he hissed. "Where'd you get that?"

She delivered her lines, "It belongs to Vincent. It was in his blanket when they found him as a baby. We think it's from his family, like an inhei-a-loom."

"That's air-a-tence, stupid. So, you stole it from Vincent?"

"I didn't steal it. He was letting me copy the design for an apron I was embroidering. You guys just busted in and took us. I didn't have time to put it away."

"Huh. Well…could I see it?" he feigned innocence.

"I don't know," she hesitated. "It's pretty special, and it's not even mine to lend out."

"I promise I just want to see it. For a minute."

"Well…just for a minute, I guess," she said. She took it off and handed it to him. "Be careful," she admonished.

He nodded humbly, and took it in his hands. He'd never seen anything so marvelous, so lovely. "Can I put it on?" he asked.

She thought for a second. "I guess so. But you have to give it right back."

"Oh, I will, I will," he lied. He put it around his neck and examined the results in the mirror. He looked like a king, wearing this powerful emblem. He had to have it. "Hey…uh, what would you trade to let me wear this for a little while?"

"Oh, no! No! You promised to give it right back!"

"Okay, okay! I'll give it back right now!" He moved to take it off, but hesitated. "Unless…there's something you want…then I could wear it for awhile, and give it back later."

She calmed down, and thought for a second. "Well…I do really like Jenny's dollhouse…"

"Okay, then, you can play with it while I wear this. Just let me know when you want to trade back, okay?"

She beamed. "Okay!"

Don turned and walked away a happy man, having put one over on a stupid kid, and Samantha learned a very valuable life lesson. She canvassed the encampment, looking for Kyle Griffin. Her eyes popped when she spotted him—he looked like he should be in the clinic chamber. He was sitting at a picnic table, and he was pale, sweating, and shaking. Moira was handing him a glass of water, but as he tried to bring it to his mouth, he spilled it all over.

"Kyle, are you sick?" she asked him.

"I've been better, kid." Just then, he noticed Don, wearing the cross. He whistled through his teeth. Moira followed his gaze, and her jaw dropped open.

"Wow, that's some necklace he's got, huh?" said Samantha.

"Yeah," grunted Kyle.

"I'm gonna be real nice to Bishop, and maybe he'll give me a necklace."

"Bishop gave him that?" asked Moira.

She stared at them for a second. "I thought Bishop decided what everyone gets?" she answered.

Kyle and Moira returned their stare at Don, forgetting about Samantha. Samantha, seeing their eyes glaze over, took her leave.

She returned to the playground, and joined some girls playing jump rope. "I wish I had a nickel, I wish I had a dime, I wish I had a necklace like Don's to wear on me all the time!" The girls stopped turning the rope, and Samantha cheerfully 'explained' about Don's necklace. Samantha said no more about it, but she didn't have to. The story spread faster than the rash that was going around camp.


	13. Chapter 13

Tuesday

Tuesday morning, Father announced at breakfast that he intended to offer himself as a sole sacrifice to the Griffins. Heated objections followed, but his determination was unwavering. The rest of the community lingered silently over the breakfast tables, sipping coffee and tea. When he returned to the dining hall, he announced to the group, "Their reply was, I believe, anatomically impossible for me to perform." He was answered with weak chuckles and glum half-smiles.

Rebecca stood. "Folks, this is no good. We're all just sitting here…waiting to die. Let's all hike the trails. The exercise will improve everyone's mood."

Vincent turned to Catherine and held out his hand, which she accepted. They rose and set off. Pascal offered Rebecca his arm; she threaded her arm through his with a wide smile. They trailed after Vincent and Catherine, and Jamie and Mouse, Olivia and Kanin fell in behind them.

Cullen and Winslow glared at each other over the table. "I prefer to sit here and sulk," sneered Cullen. Winslow snorted.

"I'm not up to hiking, but would you care to join me for a walk to the Mirror Pool?" Father asked Mary. "Yes, I would," she answered, beaming.

The hikers walked for some time together before Mouse found a geode and ran off with it and Jamie, back to his chamber. Olivia and Kanin stopped at a quiet spot by the Great Falls where they'd spent many hours, before they were married. Vincent and Catherine, Rebecca and Pascal pressed on, through a cavern where gypsum crystals, suspended from the roof, had grown thirty feet long; their white, furry arms branched and divided dozens of times until they formed a massive chandelier. And another cavern, where dozens of fragile-looking speleothems spiraled around massive karst columns, creating a delicate stone filigree. Then another, almost filled with narrow, towering pinnacles of sparkling, opalescent rock. Pascal pulled a set of mallets out of his coat pocket, and tapped them; they produced ambient musical tones, which reverberated until he put his palm on the columns to still them. While he filled the chamber with melodious, soothing tones, Rebecca reached out and rested her hands upon stalagmites rising from the floor, and they slowly began to change color; color pulsed and swirled across and through the rock, and washed over it in waves; it was hypnotic. Catherine closed her eyes and let her head fall back. She allowed herself to float high above the floor on the waves of beautiful, peaceful sound. Soon, she felt Vincent's warmth behind her, and his arms slipping around her waist…

Jamie stood next to Mouse while he began examining his geode; she looked around the chamber, quietly amazed. Tables and benches were covered with experiments in physics, chemistry, biology; a chalkboard was covered with scrawled formulas. Mouse was examining his geode with a magnifying glass; he paused to take a long drink of water. He glanced at Jamie, and was stricken by the beauty of her eyes; he smiled very softly. "The sparkle in your eyes makes them even more beautiful," he said. Her heart filled with warmth. He belched long and loudly. She closed her eyes and sighed, tender feelings taking wing and soaring high above her head, and out the chamber entrance. "Don't you know anything about romance, Mouse?" she asked him.

"No. Tell Mouse?"

"Romance is when you fall in love with a girl, and you want to hold her and kiss her, and you do what she likes to make her want to kiss you, too."

"Like, what?"

"I don't know…Catherine says the most romantic thing anyone ever did for her was when Vincent gave her a foot massage after she'd been on her feet all day, and they hurt."

Mouse stared at her for a few seconds, unblinking; then he burst out laughing.

"What's funny?" demanded Jamie, annoyed.

"Jamie—" he panted, "—let me rub your feet."

"Stay away from my feet."

"No—Jamie, come on," he couldn't catch his breath for laughing, "come here, let Mouse rub your feet." He began advancing toward her, still giggling hysterically.

"No, Mouse," she said, but she was giggling.

He was almost doubled over with laughter, but he continued advancing toward her. She retreated, he advanced, until they were racing around his chamber.

"I've stayed down in these tunnels for way too long," said Cullen.

Winslow sipped his coffee. They sat in Cullen's quiet chamber, with their mid-morning coffee, sharpening their pocket knives. Cullen was carving an elaborate ivy leaf design into the handle of a walking staff for Father, and Winslow was carving toy boats for the children.

"I never meant to stay for so long," he continued. "I couldn't stay Above after my wife left me…I think I would've tried to kill myself if I'd stayed. I came down here…and I got better. I got stronger. That's when I should've gone back, when I felt better. But being here…I felt like I belonged here, like I was part of something…like I was part of a family, and I mattered."

Winslow put down his mug and nodded understanding. "You would've been missed if you'd left."

"Do you really think so?" Cullen asked.

Winslow looked up in surprise. "What the hell kind of question is that? Hell, yes, you'd've been missed."

Cullen was silent for a moment. "I know people call me a trouble-maker."

"Sometimes someone has to stir some shit up," answered Winslow. "Someone has to challenge the assumptions, ask the questions."

"Here's a question," Cullen replied, "do you feel like we're just…laying down for the Griffins, letting them walk all over us?"

Winslow sipped his coffee, then shook his head. "We can't win against them, Cullen," he answered. "If we fought, we'd be slaughtered."

"Winslow—we're gonna die. This is it. You might go first, but it won't be long until they kill me, and then all the rest of the men." He paused. "I don't want to die. I'm not ready to die."

Winslow looked at him, and drew a deep breath. "I think I'm ready. Why shouldn't I die now, while I'm in the prime of my life? I'll never have to suffer through the indignity of old age, the stooped back, the arthritis, the senility…goin' back to wearin' diapers when I start pissin' myself like a baby…havin' to have someone feed me and wipe my ass for me…nope, this way is definitely better. I'm still young—relatively young—strong, healthy, my family and friends are all still alive and well, and they'll give me a big send off, they'll tell me how much they love me, and what a great sacrifice I'm making for them…and some of them will even cry…over my death…"

Father, Mary, and William were seated on boulders at the edge of The Mirror Pool, gazing at its magical surface.

"I left the world above because I couldn't stand the cruelty," said Mary. "I never expected any kindness or mercy from the people above, but I never thought I'd see that same ugliness here, Below. Even now, I can barely fathom how depraved the Griffins are, how deplorable they must be…despicable. They don't have to do this—they want to do this, they're enjoying this, our pain, our misery."

"Mary," soothed Father, "will it do you any good to fixate on them? Will that make you feel better? Let's focus on you. Let's talk about the hundreds of acts of kindness and love you've given our community. Let's talk about how much you are loved. Let's talk about the happy, loving times we've had, the Winterfests, the anniversaries, the births of the children…and all of our beloved brothers and sisters who've gone on before us, and what they gave to us. Let's talk about what we give to each other every day, the love, the concern, the caring, the time we spend with each other…the time we spend doing things for each other. All the cruelty and hate of the Griffins is far out-shadowed by the love and the warmth we have for each other. To paraphrase the philosophy of Jesus of Nazareth, love will always triumph over hate, good will always rise above evil."

"You think now's the time to wax philosophical, Father?" asked William.

"In the words of our own philosopher Winslow, 'If now's not the time, I sure as hell don't know when is.'"

They laughed in spite of themselves, and reminisced about all the golden, wonderful years they'd had, together.

Zach looked back and forth between Samantha, Brooke, and Kipper. The Griffins ranks had fallen into such division and confusion, he believed they could succeed in smuggling the infants back to the Tunnel Dwellers. But who to send? Brooke could carry both babies back by herself, but she wasn't as fast as either Samantha or Kipper. Samantha and Kipper could only carry one infant each, but it meant risking two children instead of just one. "Okay," he said finally, "Samantha and Kipper." The two named smiled widely, while Brooke sighed, but then recovered. "We let the babies sleep all day, and only feed them half their dinner so they stay awake and cry all night. That gives you two the excuse to walk them. And you walk them across the playground, through the fissure, and back home. Then you get back here, as fast as you can. Hopefully, you're back here by the time the Griffins figure out the babies are gone, and we can mislead each faction into believing the other factions took them."

"You know," said Brooke, "if the Tunnel Dwellers see you two, they'll want to keep you over there. Do you think you could leave them without anyone seeing you?"

"Good idea," said Geoffrey. "Great idea. They'll be screaming their heads off—let's let them suck on bottles while you're taking them back so they stay quiet. Leave them on the ground in the dining hall."

"On the ground?" questioned Kipper.

"You can't fall off the ground," answered Brooke.


	14. Chapter 14

Wednesday

Wednesday morning, a miracle was discovered: Suzanne and Ryan had been returned. But how? Their parents were wild with joy. The parents of the children still held captive spent the next several hours trying to figure out how the babies were returned, and what to do next. Mackenzie and Sarah set off on a mission to try to find out from the children what happened.

They slid into the same fissure and tapped out the code to call to the children. Geoffrey slipped away from the other children, into the opening.

"We snuck the babies back home," he said quietly. "The Griffins are all disorganized. Some people support Bishop, some support Don, some Robert, some Moira and Kyle, and then some people don't support any leadership. And everyone thinks they're in charge of everything, and no one follows up on anything. This morning, three of them argued over who was going to cook our breakfast, then no one ever did. We had to go ask for it. They all spend a lot of time fist-fighting."

"Do you think you could help some of the smaller children slip away now?" asked Sarah.

"Probably," Geoffrey answered, and returned to the playground.

They watched as the children quickly organized a game of Mother-May-I. The taller children lined up in front, with the smaller children to the rear, against the rock wall in front of the fissure. Slowly, they siphoned out fourteen preschoolers. Sarah and Mackenzie herded them back home, and the community rejoiced.

Sarah and Mackenzie returned, and again Geoffrey slipped away to meet them.

"Has anyone noticed the children missing?" asked Mac.

"No," Geoffrey answered.

"Okay, then, let's try to get the rest of you out of here," he said.

"Zach said that if you came back, we'd play Tag back here, and sneak off one at a time."

The game commenced, but unluckily, Kyle and Moira came to check on the children just as Kipper was running into the fissure.

"Kipper!" yelled Zach, "run! Run! Kipper!"

Kipper spun around to see Moira pistol-whip Zach, who crumbled to the ground. Kyle was running toward the fissure, yelling at him to stop.

"Run!" yelled Kipper. "They saw us! They're coming!"

Sarah, Mackenzie, Samantha, Brooke and Geoffrey were gathered in a wide spot about a hundred feet inside the fissure. They broke into a run with Sarah leading the way with a torch, and Mackenzie bringing up the rear.

They came racing up the tunnel that led to The Square, the large, high-vaulted open space that was central to the Tunnel Dwellers' chambers. The dozen or so Tunnel Dwellers in The Square stared, amazed.

"Keep running!" yelled Mac, and the children shot down smaller tunnels, out of sight. He and Sarah took a stand in The Square.

Kyle eventually entered The Square, running, purple with anger.

He pulled his gun. "Get on your knees!" he yelled at Mac.

"Fuck you," said Mac.

Kyle shot him and Sarah in the face, killing them. He turned and walked back down the tunnel, leaning on the wall for support. By the time Vincent reached The Square, he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Thursday

On Thursday morning, Father stood up to speak after breakfast.

"My dear friends," he began, "I want to let you know how very much you mean to me. No one could have asked for a finer family than you have been. You've made me feel safe and loved, valued and respected. You've meant the world to me.

"Today, my dear ones, is Thursday. We have all tried our very best to devise a plan to get our children back, and overcome the Griffins. We have made enormous sacrifices. Some of us have already sacrificed all. We have had some brilliant ideas. But even the most clever of our plans could never succeed, and might even put our children in jeopardy. Therefore, let our discussions continue, but continue along a different path. Let us discuss how we shall meet the Griffins' demands, which ones of us shall give ourselves up, and how the survivors shall carry on."

His announcement was met with stunned silence. William was the first to speak.

"So, that's it? You're saying we should give up?" he said.

Father sighed. "The time has come to admit defeat. Our remaining time would be best spent planning for the reality that we cannot change."

"Today is Thursday, William. The Griffins must be answered Saturday," said Vincent. "Sarah and Mackenzie gave their lives. We've searched for an answer for four days. Even if we were to discover a workable plan right now, there's no time to prepare. But we can try to develop a plan for those who will survive, to keep them safe for as long as possible."

"It's time, William," echoed Mary, gently.

William looked at the ground, and nodded.

"So," continued Father, "I shall be the first."

"I'm the second," said Mary.

"I'm third," said Pascal.

"I shall be fourth," said Vincent; then he reached for Catherine's hand. The corners of her mouth turned down, and she began to cry. Vincent pulled her into his arms, and soothed her.

"I'm fifth," said Winslow.

Olivia looked at Kanin, and smiled a small, sad smile. "I'm sixth," she said.

"I'm seventh," Kanin and Rebecca said at the same time. He spoke to everyone's—except Olivia's—surprise. "There's no life for me without Olivia," he said. "Our people will still look for leadership, Rebecca. That needs to be you."

Mid-morning found Winslow, Vincent, Catherine, Olivia, Kanin and Rebecca gathered in the library. Winslow, Vincent and Olivia were in among the stacks; Catherine, Kanin and Rebecca were sitting around the brazier, browsing through books.

"Here it is," said Winslow, pulling a book off a shelf. He joined the others around the brazier, sitting next to Rebecca. "It's Thomas Hardy. Let me read this to you," he said, and read:

What of the faith and fire within us

Men who march away

Ere the barn-cocks say

Night is growing gray,

Leaving all that here can win us;

What of the faith and fire within us

Men who march away?

Is it a purblind prank, O think you,

Friend with the musing eye,

Who watch us stepping by

With doubt and dolorous sigh?

Can much pondering so hoodwink you!

Is it a purblind prank, O think you,

Friend with the musing eye?

Nay. We well see what we are doing,

Though some may not see—

Dalliers as they be—

England's need are we;

Her distress would leave us rueing:

Nay. We well see what we are doing,

Though some may not see!

Father entered the library at this point, and stood for a moment, listening; he moved very quietly to an armchair, and listened to Winslow continue:

In our heart of hearts believing

Victory crowns the just,

And that braggarts must

Surely bite the dust,

Press we to the field ungrieving,

In our heart of hearts believing

Victory crowns the just.

Hence the faith and fire within us

Men who march away

Ere the barn-cocks say

Night is growing gray,

Leaving all that here can win us;

Hence the faith and fire within us

Men who march away.

"That was lovely," said Catherine.

"So…how are you feeling about Saturday?" asked Kanin.

Winslow nodded. "Pure panic. But I'm doing it for my family. I love them. They've sacrificed for me, they've given me everything they've had to give, all my life." He sighed. "I mean, am I scared? Hell, yeah, I'm scared. But would I ask any one of them to trade places with me? Because that's the alternative. No. No. This is on me." He paused, and looked at Catherine. "What have you got?" he asked.

"Mary Elizabeth Frye," she answered, and read:

Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there. I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow.  
I am the diamond glints on snow.  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning's hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
I am not there. I did not die.

"I like that," said Winslow.

"I'll be thinking about that one on Saturday," said Kanin.

"Beautiful," said Vincent; but he was staring at Catherine. He had been leaning on a tall bookcase, listening; he held a volume in his hands. He watched her cheeks flush bright pink, and he felt her heart was pounding. _She's adorable when she's flustered_ , he mused. He wondered what the Griffins would do with her after he was gone—and he pushed the thought down, violently. He lowered his eyes.

"If I may?" asked Father, and then recited from memory:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,  
And having perhaps the better claim  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,

Olivia emerged from the stacks, book in hand, and silently moved next to Kanin. She listened as Father continued:

And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way  
I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference.

"Wonderful, Father," said Olivia. "I know there have been times when you and I have disagreed, but Walt Whitman comes to mind, and I'd like to share with you." She recited:

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  
Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;  
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;  
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;  
Here Captain! dear father!  
This arm beneath your head;  
It is some dream that on the deck,  
You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;  
My father does not feel my arm, he has no—

She was interrupted by Rebecca: she sucked in a huge gasp of air, and ran from the room sobbing, choking out an apology.

"Oh, no," cried Olivia, "I didn't mean to upset anyone…I mean—you know, I mean, we're all upset…" She started to stand to go after her, but Father stopped her.

"Let me go, Olivia," he said, rising. "And thank you, for the poem, my dear, it was lovely." He kissed her forehead, and hobbled out.

Vincent hurled the book he was holding across the room; it exploded when it hit the rock wall. Catherine jumped, but by the time she looked up, Vincent was gone.

"Oh, my god, look what I've done," moaned Olivia. "We're all starting to unravel." She caught sight of Catherine's stricken face. "Don't worry, Catherine. Sometimes he gets so…" she searched for the word, "…agitated, he just has to burn off steam. He runs, he swims, he climbs the rock formations…he comes back feeling better."

"But, why…?" Catherine stammered.

"He has to protect the people he loves," explained Kanin. "I saw it in his eyes a minute ago, he realizes that after he's gone, he can't protect you. But he has to go to protect the community. He's caught between a rock and a hard place."

"His nuts are in a vise," snorted Winslow.

 _That,_ thought Kanin, _is probably very apt…_

Father found Rebecca by the Mirror Pool. She was sobbing so violently, he did a mental coin toss as to whether or not he should retrieve a sedative from the Hospital Chamber. He opted not, and approached her.

As soon as she saw him, she ran to him, and threw her arms around his waist. He guided her to a boulder, and sat them both down. He held her while she sobbed. "Go ahead, Rebecca," he murmured, "go ahead, let it out."

"Father," she gasped, "I just don't know how we'll go on without you…I don't know how I'll go on…without you…you have been a father to me, all my life…and you're my best friend…my truest friend…you've been there every day, helping me plan my work, distributing rations, settling arguments…I don't know how to go on—" and she broke down, sobbing.

"There, there, my dear…shh…shh…everything will be fine, Rebecca, because you are going to make it fine. You are going to plan the work…distribute rations…settle arguments…you can do it…yes, you can…I've taught you everything I know. And you were always a wonderful student. I've taught you that we were weak and afraid when we were alone, but when we joined together, we were strong. And as long as everyone stands together, we will never fail. You must always remind everyone to stand together."

Vincent skidded to a stop at the Catacombs. He drew in a huge breath, and let out a deafening roar. He began to pace.

"Vincent, my son!" called Narcissa in greeting. She ambled toward him, leaning on her walking staff. "Ah, Vincent…yes, this is a trying time…"

"Narcissa…" he began, "I'm torn…I owe it to the community to meet my fate on Saturday, but as soon as I'm gone, they are at the mercy of the Griffins."

"Not to mention Catherine."

He growled. "Especially Catherine…especially Catherine!"

"It's hard to leave this life when you feel you're not finished."

He stared at her: that was exactly it. He just begun to explore his relationship with Catherine. He still had to protect his family. He was still learning about himself. He wasn't finished—he was just starting!

The old woman nodded. "Ah, Vincent!" she sighed. She looked around, and found a boulder to lean on. She rubbed her hip. "These old bones…they're dry, they ache." She stretched out her arm, and turned her hand over. "See how they're twisted and gnarled, like dead branches on a sick, old tree?" She sighed again. "I'm tired, Vincent. I'm weary, and there is no sleep, no rest that can refresh me." She paused. "Ah, these damned Griffins, eh? Vincent, you are a saint to go offer yourself up to them, but as you say, after you're gone, who will keep us safe from them? I think it would be better if you did not go to them on Saturday. Maybe we send someone in your place, someone we would not miss so much. What do you think, eh?"

His frustration drained away. "Let me help you back to your camp, Narcissa," he said, and took her arm. "You know, I have a very large collection of crystals. I'll tell Mouse to bring them to you."

She stopped abruptly, yanking her arm away from him. She swung her staff at him in frustration. "I don't want your damned crystals! Were you not listening to me? I'm old, Vincent, I've lived far past the age where life is enjoyed, much less cherished! I'm sick, I'm tired; I miss my family, I want to go home! You have no business putting your head in a noose, when you know the Griffins are pigs that will abuse us when you are gone!"

He bent down and leaned into her face. "Now, you see here, Narcissa, your life is precious to me, even if you're ready to throw it away." She turned away, and stormed off. He caught up to her and tried again to take her arm, but she swatted him away with her staff, squawking Creole curses at him.

When he returned to his chamber, he found Catherine, reading a book. She read aloud,

No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly, sullen bell Give notice to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. Oh! If, I say, you look upon this verse, When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.

"I told Jamie to give that to you Saturday night," he said.

"You can't think that I would ever forget you," she whispered.

"Catherine, my beloved…if you would find a man who would treat you like the queen you shall forever be, a man you could be happy with, and have the family I know you want, then you could be assured that my soul was at peace."

"Call me that again," she answered. "My heart skipped a beat when you called me 'beloved.'" She paused, and smiled. She crossed the room slowly toward him. "I am happy. I have the family I've always wanted." She took his hands, and kissed the backs of his fingers.


	16. Chapter 16

Friday night

Friday night, William set out a buffet of sandwiches, soup, chili, sweet rolls, and cookies; there was an urn of coffee, tea, and a keg of beer. "Irish wake," he said. As the community began filling plates, he raised a tankard of beer. "A toast," he began, "Father, Mary, Winslow, Vincent, Olivia, Kanin, Pascal. You are the backbone of this community. You built it, and it's through your strength that it remains standing. We will work as hard as we can to keep it standing, but your shoes will never truly be filled by any who follow you."

Those who had glasses drank to the toast; others cried out, 'hear, hear!'

One couple stood. The man raised his glass and said, "Here's to Mary! We could never have raised our son without her!" People yelled out, 'cheers!' and drank. The woman called out, "Thank you Mary, for everything you've done! You've given, and given, and we love you for it!"

Pascal was lost in a memory for a moment; then, he stood. "I'd like to share a memory from my childhood, about my fifth birthday. It's the first one of my birthdays I can remember. It's a very beautiful memory for me. I remember the games, the songs…I remember my father, how happy he was that day. I remember a lot of you were there, Winslow, Vincent, Olivia…Father, Rebecca. I remember how happy I was, and how special I felt, and how loved. I have a lifetime of wonderful, happy memories about growing up in these tunnels with you. Thank you. I could not have asked for a more wonderful family, or a more wonderful life." He sat down to cheers.

Bottles of wine appeared, and bottles of bourbon. Glasses were filled, shots were poured, and toasts were drunk. Stories of days gone by were told, most happy, some funny, some sad.

Saturday morning

By the time anyone thought to look at a clock, it was 7:30 a.m. Many had fallen asleep with their heads down on the tables, some had stretched out on the benches. The seven looked at each other with a questioning expression: _are you ready?_

Vincent cleared his throat. "I'd like just a few minutes with Catherine, then I'll be ready." The others nodded; he took her hand, and stood.

He walked her to his chamber. She sat down on his bed, he leaned against the wall. "There's so much I want to say, and yet, I don't know where to start. It breaks my heart to leave you."

"I understand why you have to go."

"I don't know what will happen after I'm gone. Hopefully, the Griffins still don't know you work with the district attorney's office. I pray you are able to escape."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

He smiled ruefully, then nodded. "Catherine…last week…when I was walking you back to your building—or I thought I was walking you back to your building…" he walked to the bed and sat down next to her, "…those were the most precious moments of my life. Catherine…do you think—"

She encircled his neck with her arms; he pulled her onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. He caressed her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. He stroked her hair, and her ear. With one finger, he traced her brow, her cheekbone; he drew his thumb across her lips. He drew her face close to his, leaned down, and kissed her lips, very softly. He pulled back and looked into her jade green eyes, and smiled. He leaned down once more and kissed her lips again. Slowly, their lips parted and their kiss deepened. And the rest of the world fell away, and the only thing that existed for him was her warmth, and the only thing that existed for her was his beating heart.

After an eternity, they parted. He held her for a moment, to breathe in her essence. "I go to my death a happy man. I could not ask for one thing more of this life," he whispered. They stood, and hand in hand, returned to the Dining Hall.

~~ 0 ~~

The party made their way to the Exchange, Father, Mary, Winslow, Pascal, Vincent, Olivia and Kanin, with Catherine, Rebecca, and William. But when they arrived, the place was empty.

"I expected a crowd," said Father. They stood for a moment, unsure. "Let's go on to their camp," he said.

Vincent turned to Catherine. "I don't want you to enter their camp," he said, gripping her hand. "No, Catherine," he cut her off, "don't argue."

"He's quite right, my dear," agreed Father, "and you also, Rebecca and William. Heaven knows what they would do to you."

Vincent stared at her until she nodded.

They were still a fair distance away when Vincent stopped, sniffing the air. "Father, wait," he said. "There is an odor in the air…death."

"Oh, my dear god," Father answered, "the children…" and he quickened his pace as much as he could. "Hurry, Vincent, run ahead!"

Vincent ran toward the camp, Catherine fast behind him, his injunction forgotten…and they both came to an abrupt stop when they reached it. About a dozen bodies lay in the dirt. All their exposed skin was covered with a red rash. "There must have been a sickness…Catherine, stay here; it might still be contagious."

She grabbed his arm. "What about you?"

"I'm seldom affected by illness. I must look for the children," he answered, and ran off, calling out their names.

Father came quickly after. He frowned at the carnage. He covered his nose and mouth with his cape, and knelt down next to the closest body. After a quick exam, he pulled himself up by his staff. "Kanin, William," he huffed, "help me turn him over."

Kanin and William rolled him face up. It was Kyle Griffin. Father kneeled next to him to examine him.

"Father?" asked William. "What is it?"

Father pulled himself up on his staff. "Measles," he said. "Measles, probably complicated by pneumonia, encephalitis, sepsis…and dehydration."

"Oh, my god," breathed Mary, "they refused to be immunized. A few of our children had measles several weeks ago. All of us either had it as children, or had been immunized. The Griffin children must've caught it from our children, and spread it to the adults."

Vincent came running back. "Father, come quickly," he said. "I've found the children. They're safe. They're trying to care for the survivors."

"Search for any more," Father instructed the others. He hurried after Vincent.

Zach sat in a battered armchair, his face in his hands. Eight Griffins lay on cots; they didn't appear to be breathing. Father checked each one for a pulse, but didn't feel any.

"Zach," said Father, softly. He put his hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing more you could have done, my son. Measles is fatal more than half the time in adults, and the Griffins were more likely to have complications. Many of them had asthma or diabetes, or heart conditions, or were addicted to alcohol or drugs. They never sought out any medical treatment, and so their bodies were too weak to survive an illness as severe as measles."

Vincent knelt next to the chair. "You rescued all our children, Zach. Our parents are very grateful to have their children back, and we're all grateful to have the orphans back. We're grateful to have you back."

Zach brushed tears out of his eyes. "The last two days have been a sick nightmare. There's a canyon not far from here, at least three miles deep. The Griffins who were strong enough loaded up the dead people on carts, and tossed them down…there must've been over a hundred. Yesterday, there were only a dozen or so left alive. The Griffin children helped me carry these people in here, and care for them. But now they're gone."

Very quickly, the Griffin children were lured to the hospital chamber on the promise of breakfast after an examination for injury: aside from scars from past abuse, nothing more serious than head lice was found.

However, the foul odor they exuded required immediate attention. After breakfast, Father announced a swimming outing. The Tunnel Dwellers and their children were enthusiastic, as were the orphans living with them, but the newly orphaned Griffin children were understandably apathetic. The women and girls bathed in one pool, while the men and boys bathed in another. Most of the Griffin children went with much trepidation, bathing and swimming being something foreign to them; however, they were eventually drawn into the Tunnel Dwellers' games and sports. And after a few were persuaded to allow themselves to be de-loused, the rest were eager to have the process performed, after seeing a few of the creatures removed from the scalps of their mates.

While Pascal attempted to referee a water polo game, Father, Winslow, Vincent, Cullen and Kanin were applying fine-toothed combs to the boys' scalps. Vincent sighed.

"Catherine will be leaving soon," he answered the questioning looks.

"How will she explain being gone for over a week?" Cullen

"Good question," he answered. "I don't think memory loss will serve as an excuse a second time."

They were silent for several minutes, thinking.

"She could say the Griffins kidnapped her," mused Cullen. "And I know the perfect place to say where they held her captive: in one of the bankrupt warehouses."

"And they died of measles," added Winslow. "We could drag up a few corpses."

"What about 'why'?" said Kanin.

"Because she was asking questions around the neighborhood. Friday of last week she was asking around about them," said Cullen.

"No one would ever believe she'd been held captive for a week," objected Father. "She may be a bit disheveled now, but she's still far too…fresh, for lack of a better word."

"We could go back to the Griffin's camp and get some of their clothes," suggested Cullen.

"So, all we need to do is tell Catherine that she needs to put on some stinking, filthy, lice-infested clothing, and let us tie her up and leave her in an empty warehouse with two rotting corpses. Sounds perfect," said Father. "Naturally, that task will fall to you, Vincent."

"Naturally," said Vincent.

So, they staged the scene in the closest warehouse. Mary presented her with the dress the men had retrieved, and she christened it with the appellation 'Abominable, from the House of Abhorrent.' Olivia helped her into it, and Catherine, almost covered in grime, allowed them to chain her to the floor, beside the corpses of Bishop and Robert Griffin, lying on cots. They even found food wrappers and scraps, and a make-shift toilet—a five-gallon bucket lined with a plastic garbage bag.

Vincent was the last to go. "I'll meet you on your balcony tonight," he promised with a caress of her cheek. Catherine barely managed to wait until they had all left her before she retched, broke down, and wailed in revulsion.

Later…

"She gave me one of her cards, so I called the number," explained Joan, a helper who lived close-by.

"Why didn't you call the police?" asked Joe. He was still shaken by the sight and smell of Cathy.

"Cops don't come to this neighborhood," she answered, "and I'll be damned if I was going to smell that stink for one more day." The smell of death still hung in the air. "I actually thought it was her that got killed, and dumped here. The Bishops were mean bastards. I thought either they caught her asking questions in the neighborhood, or someone told them, and they got her and offed her."

Joe shook his head. He said, "You'll never know how grateful I am that you called. You saved her life, Mrs. Jackson."

Joan smiled. "I'm glad I could help."

~~ 0 ~~

That night, she was towel drying her hair when she heard him tapping on the balcony door. She got into her robe quickly and hurried to the doors.

"Did I come too early?" he asked.

"No, I just couldn't bring myself to get out of the tub. No matter how long I soak, I still smell that…odor."

He regarded her for a moment. "Come below. I know what will help."

~~ 0 ~~

He met her in the sub-basement. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and led her just past the Tunnel Dwellers main living areas. The walls of these caverns were streaked with fluorescent shades of blue, violet, pink and lavender. The humidity was high, and a thin mist crawled across the ground.

They entered a large cavern, dimly lit with torches, with a small waterfall on one end. The warm water from its stream pooled and bubbled in various basins. A gentle steam rose up from the water.

Vincent showed her to the women's changing area, an alcove at the back of the cavern. There was a variety of swimming suits in various sizes, and he left her to change.

"Vincent?" she called when she emerged. He was nowhere in sight, but she noticed he'd lighted several pillar candles beside one of the pools. She walked over and dipped a foot in, testing the water. It was warm, and had the effervescence of champagne. She found stepped stones, and descended.

She found a bench that ran along the side of the pool, sat down and leaned back. She was almost asleep when she felt her head being lifted off the side—it was Vincent, in the water next to her, sliding a thick, folded towel down between her head and the side. She smiled up at him.

"I must have dozed off," she said. She noticed his swimwear: a sleeveless wetsuit, with cut-off legs.

"Don't stare," he admonished, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Oh—no, no, I wouldn't…"

"You looked very peaceful," he said. A large wicker basket sat on the ground behind him. He pulled out a bottle of burgundy, and two metal goblets. He handed her one, and poured.

"To peace: serenity, and calm," he said, and lightly touched her goblet. They drank.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"Mmm, yes, it's very good."

He set his goblet on the bank, and pulled a large tin out of the basket, filled with limes, cheese, nuts, and grapes.

"The nuts, cheese and grapes are for us to eat, but I brought the limes for their scent." He gently guided her shoulders until she had her back toward him. He tipped her head back, cupped water up in his hands, and let it run down through her hair. He took a lime and sliced it in half with the claws of his thumbs, then squeezed the juice through her hair. He massaged her scalp and worked it through her hair, careful not to scratch her.

She opened her eyes, and found herself resting on his chest, his arms around her, gently holding her up. "I would have asked you if you were enjoying that, but it didn't seem necessary," he said softly.

She chuckled. He handed her her goblet, and she sipped her wine; he fed her a cube of cheese—the oil from the lime stuck to his fingers, and tasted tangy on her tongue. "Catherine, may I?" he asked, holding up the peel of the lime skin. She raised her eyebrows, inquisitively. He took her wine, and set it on the bank. "Close your eyes," he whispered. He squeezed the skin to bring out the cool oil, then he rubbed it in circles across her brow, under her cheekbones, under her jaw, and behind her ears.

She fluttered her eyelids open. "That was nice," she murmured.

"There's more," he said. He reached into the basket, and pulled out white peonies. He gave her two to hold, and used a third one to run over her shoulders, and down her arms. The oil stuck to her skin, and its spicy scent rose up from her warmth.

He reached back once again, and pulled a jar of mineral salts out of the basket; he scattered a handful, pink, blue and white, across the water. The scent of the air after a springtime shower rose up.

"Can you still smell the lime?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"And the peonies?"

"Yes, they're beautiful."

"The bad memories of today?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Gone." She released the peonies, and they floated away. She leaned back against his chest, and raised her arms above her head, and circled his neck.

 _How she opens herself up to me!_ he marveled. He bent closer, closed his eyes and inhaled her unique, wonderful scent. He opened his eyes, and looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, and her full, lovely lips were parted in anticipation of his kiss. He held her gently, and kissed her with all the tenderness in his heart.

~~ Fin ~~


End file.
